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BIG BROTHER 

and 

Other Stories 


BOOKS BY REX BEACH 

The Auction Block 
The Barrier 
The Crimson Gardenia 
Flowing Gold 
Going Some 

The Heart of the Sunset 
The Iron Trail 
Laughing Bill HydeK 
The Neer-Do-Well 
The Net ^ — 

Oh, Shoot! 

Rainbow^s End 
The Silver Horde 
The Spoilers 
Too Fat to Fight 
The Winds of Chance 








BIG BROTHER 

AND 

OTHER STORIES 


BY 

REX BEACH / 

n 

Author of 

FLOWING GOLD, THE SILVER HORDE, 
OH. SHOOn ETC, 



( 



HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 


BIG BROTHER & OTHER STORIES 


Copyright, 1923, by 
Harper & Brothers 
Printed in the U. S. A. 

First Edition 

B-X 


iiCI Ik < 

©C1A760351 • 







CONTENTS 


Big Brother 

PAGE 

I 

‘‘The White Brant” 

129 

Recoil 

185 

The Obvious Thing 

241 

The Talking Vase 

291 

Too Fat to Fight 

333 


' ' ' ^' '* ' '’'^ ’• *' • ■' '■' 




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<'■4 





/’ s '■ 



1 









BIG BROTHER 





BIG BROTHER 


B lack eaglets braves were on the warpath. 

Wailing women, orphaned children, burning 
settlenaents marked their trail. But they had come 
to grips at last with Murray’s Scouts and in the 
battle quarter was neither asked nor given. 

Murray’s men were famous Indian fighters; 
gradually they forced the redskins back and finally 
brought them to bay in a deep canyon—a cul-de-sac 
inclosed on three sides by perpendicular walls. Here 
the work of extermination began. Murray charged 
at the head of his band; he rode his white horse, 
Fleetwing, right in among the yelling savages and, 
drawing his six-shooter, he leveled it at the breast 
of Black Eagle himself. 

Murray was an unerring shot. He never drew 
except to shoot, he never shot except to slay. He 
paused an instant before pressing trigger as if to 
give Black Eagle one more moment of life, and at 
that instant an unexpected interruption occurredo 
It came in the form of a cry, a long, shrill, com¬ 
manding cry from high up on one of the canyom 
3 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


walls; it caused the bloodthirsty warriors, both red 
and white, to cease their yelling and to raise their 
eyes aloft. 

It was repeated: “Willie-e-e! You Willie 
Sheehan! ’’ 

In an open window of the Sheehan flat appeared 
the face of Mrs. Sheehan herself. She looked down 
with disfavor upon this battle. Briefly she com¬ 
manded: 

“Stop that panjammonia an’ get me a cabbage 
from the Wop’s.” 

Black Eagle’s tomahawk fell; he showed any¬ 
thing except relief at his deliverance from the deadly 
aim of his white foe. In a highly aggrieved treble 
he protested: 

“Aw, mom! I can’t! Aw, momV’ 

“He’s an Injun,” excitedly shouted Captdh 
Murray. “I gotta moider him foist, Miz’ Sheehan.” 

“Pie-ease, mom! Let sis get it.” 

“She’s out wid the baby,” came the voice from 
on high. “Murdher, is it? Tell the Wop it better 
be a fresh one or a Sheehan will be up for murdher.” 
The window descended with a bang. 

Black Eagle stirred, but as he went he dragged 
his heels; he kicked viciously at a tin can. Gone 
entirely was his high defiance; in its place abode a 
sullen, spiritless reluctance and he moved with the 
apathy of one long suffering from hook worm. 

4 


BIG BROTHER 


Captain Murray, too, was put out, for, above all 
things, he loved to kill Indians. But the war was 
over; the kids were streaming out of the vacant lot. 
Why couldn’t grown folks mind their own business? 

Jimmy Donovan, who had been watching the 
battle from the sidewalk, grinned at the sudden 
termination of hostilities. Jimmy liked kids and 
understood them; he was especially fond of little 
Midge Murray and hence he was sorry the massacre 
had been so rudely interrupted. Midge was a 
great boy, always in the lead, always on the winning 
side. That was a good sign in a kid; that was the 
sort of kid Jimmy had been. It meant that Midge 
would amount to something. 

Inasmuch as this story deals largely with these 
two, it may be well here to explain something about 
them. Donovan, young, tidy, debonair, idle of 
hand but active of mind, was a famous character 
and a person of importance in the neighborhood of 
East Ninetieth Street, for he was none other than 
the head of the notorious Car Barn gang, an organi¬ 
zation well, if not favorably, known to the entire 
East Side of New York. Midge was the brother 
of Big Ben Murray, his fellow gangster, his pal, 
and his first lieutenant. 

Nothing more about the boy need be said just 
now, but Donovan and his gang require some 
further introduction. In New York there are six 
5 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


principal street gangs, all of which are peculiar 
products of Manhattan conditions and each one of 
which exercises what amounts to exclusive privi¬ 
leges of outlawry in its own district. On the West 
Side, for instance, are the Hellos Kitchen gang, the 
Gophers, and the Hudson Dusters; on the East Side 
are the Gas House, the Hell Gate, and the Car Barn 
gangs—bands of loafers, all of them, whose mem¬ 
bers manage to exist without toil and who live in 
daily defiance of the less serious provisions of the 
criminal code. These gangsters are not habitual 
crooks, nor are they hoodlums in the common sense 
of the word; rather are they minor malefactors, 
Jonathan Wilds, Arabs of the asphalt, mutineers 
against the law. Such was Jimmy Donovan and 
such had been the general state of affairs among 
the six separate gangs until he fought his way up 
to leadership of the Car Barn crowd. Having ac¬ 
quired a position of influence and having apprised 
himself of the economic advantages arising from 
trusts and monopolies, he had effected a sort of con¬ 
solidation of the scattered gangs and made himself 
the rowdy czar of Manhattan. 

It was a feat of genuine leadership, and Donovan 
had exercised his new powers by relieving an in¬ 
herent grudge against the police. He had long been a 
thorn and a vexation to them; it became his amuse¬ 
ment, nay, his hobby, once he had acquired power, to 
6 


BIG BROTHER 


annoy, to harass, and to persecute them in everj 
possible manner. Following his elevation to office^, 
life for such uniformed men as were stationed m 
the gang-ridden sections of the city became a trial 
and a misery. Rowdyism grew and efforts to check 
it were met with a defiant cunning hitherto un¬ 
known. Violence evoked violence and casualtien 
were not light. One policeman, for instance, who 
made so bold as to invade the Car Barn rendezvous 
while the gang was in exuberant spirits, was throw® 
bodily out of a third-story window, and other 
meddlers met fates equally unpleasant and quite as 
disastrous. Jimmy and his friends were rough boys. 
Of course, the prompt order went out to “get’^ 
Donovan, but his skill in avoiding traps, his ever- 
ready and ingenious alibis, his knack of evading 
consequences, were as unique as his gift for organi¬ 
zation and it was almost impossible to hang any¬ 
thing on him. Even when apprehended, which was 
rarely, he proved to be as slippery as an eel in & 
bucket of ice, for he had mastered most of Houdini’s 
tricks and handcuffs fell from his wrists as if made 
of putty. On one occasion when he had bee® 
manacled, he freed himself, lovingly patted his 
captor upon the cheek, and disappeared. At another 
time he concluded a mockingly emotional farewell 
speech from the steps of a patrol wagon by suddenly 
slipping his handcuffs, upsetting his captors, and 
7 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

getting away clean. His most notable exploit in 
this line, however, had been his escape from the 
precinct station house after he was actually booked 
and locked up. The officer who had made the arrest 
had received the congratulations of those who could 
best appreciate the difficulty of his accomplishment, 
and was leaving the station house, when he was 
thunderstruck to behold his prisoner reading the 
World’s Series bulletins directly across the street. 
The officer had felt sure that he must be dreaming, 
until he had received a bright smile and a wave of 
the hand from the gangster as he melted into the 
crowd. 

Exploits of this sort quite naturally gained for 
Jimmy a reputation. In spite of his calling, he be¬ 
came a sort of East Side hero, and the police writhed 
under the gibes of local residents. A good many 
people liked Jimmy—that was because of his smile, 
no doubt—and in consequence of their fondness it 
became increasingly difficult to fasten anything upon 
him—yes, and well nigh impossible to make out a 
case against him after haling him into court. 

The police gave him up, finally, as a bad job and 
deliberately ignored him. It was a triumph for the 
gangster. He did as he pleased, thereafter, and his 
reputation grew. He was immune and he enjoyed 
the strange sensation—for a while. Then one day 
he awoke to the fact that he was bored. 

8 


BIG'BROTHER 


So long as he had walked in danger, there had 
been a zest to living; now there was none. He 
realized with a shock that he was out of a job. For 
years, necessity had filed his wits to razor edge; 
rust was dulling them. His tautened nerves had 
vibrated like violin strings at concert pitch; with 
nothing to fear, they were letting down and he was 
getting out of tune. To offset the miseries of ennui 
Jim became reckless; he waged a more open war 
of terrorism upon the police, but they failed to react 
to it—their reflexes were dead. Paralysis had set 
in. He gave up finally in disgust. He became rest¬ 
less, irritable; he loafed about openly and fearlessly. 
The depth of his boredom may be imagined when 
he could find relief in watching kids playing ^Tndian 
warpath.” Such was his wretched condition to-day. 

“Hey, fellahs!” It was Midge Murray’s shrill 
voice that arrested the other children. “Wanna see 
Jimmy do his tricks?” Midge was proud of his 
proprietary rights in the Car Barn outlaw and he 
never failed to exercise them. “C’mon, fellahs! I 
can make ’im. Show ’em dat one wit’ de quarter, 
Jim.” 

“I got a new one—^wit’ matches,” Donovan said 
as the urchins crowded about him. He took an 
ordinary match and broke it into three short pieces; 
these he laid in Midge Murray’s grimy little paw. 
Next he showed his own hands—they were white 
9 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


and well shaped, by the way—then picking the frag¬ 
ments one by one from Midgets hand, he transferred 
them to his left palm. “How many is dat?” he in¬ 
quired. 

“T^ree!” 

Mr. Donovan closed his left palm over its con¬ 
tents, made a magic pass, then he inverted it and 
out into Midge’s palm he let fall—four pieces of 
match! The boys laughed, all but the redoubtable 
Indian fighter himself. 

“Aw, ye had it between yer fingers alia time,” 
Midge declared. “I kin do dat meself.” 

“Yeah? Well, look at me mit. Take a good 
look.” Donovan opened wide his fingers and the 
boys made a thorough inspection, front and back. 
He discarded one piece of match, transferred the 
remaining three to his left hand as before, closed 
his fingers, repeated the magic pass. “Now, Mr. 
Fresh-!” 

Slowly Jim opened his fingers and there were four 
fragments again. One of these he threw away, as 
before, and once again another took its place. He 
repeated the performance ^veral times. 

“Laugh dat off,” he told Midge with a grin. 

This was mysterious. It was even more mysteri¬ 
ous when Jim made a quarter disappear before every¬ 
body's eyes and then picked it off the end of a kid’s 
nose or out of another’s ear. He had them tie his 


10 



BIG BROTHER 


thunibs tightly together with a piece of stout cord— 
so tightly that he ^^ouched” and made a terrible face 
at the pain—then he directed one of them to stand 
off and toss an iron hoop to him. He caught the 
hoop in his bound hands and—whaddye know about 
that? It came to rest upon one of his arms, having 
evidently passed right through between his two 
thumbs. But his thumbs were still tightly tied to¬ 
gether ! This was genuine magic. 

It was a tribute to Jimmy’s powers of entertedn- 
ment that Father Dan Marron was permitted to 
approach unobserved close enough to watch this per¬ 
formance. 

“That’s a good trick,” said the priest. 

Jimmy’s hands came apart somehow and he 
touched his hat. He respected the cloth but he dis¬ 
trusted it. 

Murray and his scouts promptly transferred their 
fickle attention to Father Dan, for he was the best 
loved man on East Ninetieth Street and the par¬ 
ticular pal of each and every boy present, but he 
sent them away, saying, 

“Run along now. I want a word with Donovan.” 
Then when they had obeyed, “I’ve got a bone to 
pick with you, Jim.’^ Father Marron’s good-natured 
face had become stern; his lips were set in a firm 
straight line. Jimmy eyed him curiously, sus¬ 
piciously. 


II 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

‘^You^re the ringleader of all the rowdies, aren’t 
you? You’re the boss, the high mogul of all the 
street gangsters, and your word is law.” 

‘‘Huh! You been talkin’ wit’ some copper,” 
Donovan mildly protested. “You can’t believe nut- 
tin’ dey tell you. Father. Coppers believes in fairies 
an’ Santy Claus an’ all dem t’ings. Honest!” 

“You needn’t incriminate yourself. And, by the 
same token, you needn’t try to pull the wool over 
my eyes. I’m not talking as a priest. This is man 
to man. I’ve been telling myself you were a sort 
of East Side Robin Hood, but it seems I was wrong. 
I’ve watched your doings—watched you terrorize 
the police and run things to suit yourself—and I’ve 
never said a word, but when you begin to annoy 
T^omen, when you make it unsafe for decent girls to 
go about alone-” 

“Wait a minute,” Donovan broke in sharply. 
“Who says I done dat?” 

“I say so. At least one of your precious Car Bam 
gang did it and that’s the same as you. He’s your 
man; he’d never dare, except for your protection.” 

“Who done it?” 

“Miller. ‘Cokey Joe,’ they call him.” 

“Oh, Mm! He was steamin’ wit’ hop. Father. He 
must a’ been.” 

“Nothing of the sort. He did it more than once. 
And the nicest girl in the whole parish, too.” 

12 



BIG BROTHER 


‘‘Goils is like coppers, Father. Dey t^nk de 
woild’s against ’em.^’ 

^^Not Kitty Costello.” 

There was a momentary silence, then Donovan 
repeated, queerly, ^‘Kitty Costello! ” A change, slow 
but perceptible, crept over his face; it was no longer 
pleasant to look upon, for some emotion had erased 
the signs of good nature that he wore as a mask for 
the world, leaving a countenance hard and evil tem¬ 
pered. 

^^Any man who^d annoy that girl-” the priest 

began, but Jimmy interrupted, roughly: 

^^Don’t boost her wiF me. It ain’t necessary. 
Take me woid. Father, she’s as safe from now on 
as you are. Cokey Joe an’ me—Huh! We’ll have 
dat understood.” 

A brief scrutiny appeared to satisfy the priest. 
“All right,” said he. “I’ve never interfered with you 
and yours. See that your Cokey Joes don’t interfere 
with me and mine.” He walked on. 

Father Marron’s accusation had struck the gang¬ 
ster deep, for if the latter had a religion of any 
sort, Kitty Costello was it. Cokey Joe had dared 
to accost her, to insult her, whereas Jimmy himself 
had never even presumed to raise his hat to her. 
It seemed incredible that any member of his gang— 
even a hop-head—could so far forget the unwritten 
law of the Car Barn crowd as to molest a girl, much 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


less one of Kitty’s kind. But Father Dan didn’t lie. 
As Jimmy set out in search of Miller he hoped he 
would find the fellow in his normal state of mind, 
for if Cokey Joe had any artificial courage aboard 
there might be serious trouble. 

Fortunately for the sake of this story, Mijler was 
in the dumps when Donovan discovered him and 
he met the latter’s accusation with little more than 
a whining apology. But apologies did not satisfy 
the irate Donovan and for once in his career he 
indulged in personal abuse unbefitting a leader. He 
was burning up and Cokey Joe heard language con¬ 
cerning himself—language voiced in the hearing of 
his comrades—such as no member of any gang could 
either forgive or forget. For days thereafter Miller 
pondered that language resentfully and the longer 
he thought about it the more vengeful he became. 

Bawl him out, would he? In front of people. 
Donovan was getting swelled on himself, cursing a 
guy and making him eat dirt in public. And over 
a skirt, too. If he thought he could get away with 
that stuff he was crazy. It was time somebody pulled 
him down. Yes, and Miller believed he knew who 
could and would do it. At the first opportunity he 
went down into the Italian quarter and there held 
earnest conversation with one Mike Navarro. 

This Navarro was, in his way, a character quite 
as distinctive as Jimmy Donovan and far more dan- 

14 


BIG BROTHER 


gerous to the community. For years the papers had 
referred to a Mike Navarro gang, but, strictly speak¬ 
ing, there was no such thing, for Italian criminals 
do not operate in gangs, or if upon occasion they do, 
their organizations are so secret, their activities are 
so carefully guarded, that definite proof of their 
existence is difficult to uncover. Associations of 
some sort there must be, but how loose or how tight 
nobody seems to know and certain it is that there 
are no bands among them such as Jimmy Donovan 
headed. Navarro, himself, was a stevedore, or posed 
as such, and now and then he actually worked at 
that trade^—in his idle moments, so to speak—but 
most of his time was devoted to tasks more subtle 
and more lucrative. In great cities, blackmail, ex¬ 
tortion, dark enterprises of various sorts, can fre¬ 
quently be made to pay better than honest occu¬ 
pations. 

Compared with Mike Navarro’s furtive undertak¬ 
ings, the depredations of Donovan and his amateur 
outlaws were little more than harmless pranks; 
nevertheless the two factions had clashed, seriously, 
and there was bad blood between them. 

Knowing well the state of affairs. Cokey Joe Miller 
set himself the agreeable task of fanning the embers 
of that smoldering feud, and he met with better suc¬ 
cess than he had hoped for. The coals needed only 
to be breathed upon, and he returned to his haunts 

15 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


well satisfied with his journey. So! Jim would make 
a bum of him, would he? 

Jimmy Donovan had learned that all work and 
no play brings dissatisfaction even to people who 
don^t work; in order, therefore, to provide an out¬ 
let for the social yearnings of his followers he had 
formed a club, a polite organization which gave 
dances at irregular intervals. It was known as the 
Pat McGraw Pastime Club, Mr. McGraw being 
the political boss of that neighborhood, and its func¬ 
tions were taken quite as seriously as were the gate 
receipts, which latter went directly into the till of 
the Car Barn gang and were an ever-present help 
in time of need. 

People there were who imagined that a Pat Mc¬ 
Graw Pastime ball was an amusing burlesque and 
afforded opportunities for an adventurous slumming 
expedition, or that suggestive Barbary Coast dances 
and strange goings-on could be observed there, but 
they were mistaken. As a matter of fact, a rigid 
propriety was enforced. More than once Big Ben 
Murray had ordered off the floor couples from the 
Park Avenue district who were “dancing tough,” 
as he put it, and it availed them nothing to argue 
that they were merely following the practices in 
vogue at the smart hotels. When Big Ben declared 
a dance indecent, indecent it was, and if the guilty 
parties persisted in argument, out they went. On 
16 


BIG BROTHER 


tbeir bonnets! Nor had any woman ever smoked a 
cigarette—not a whole one. At about the third draw 
Ben bounced the lady’s escort. Some he bounced all 
the way downstairs, giving the girls the choice of 
going under their own motive power or of suffering 
the same fate. Nobody ever pulled any rough stuff 
at a Pastime party. 

This particular dance was expected to be the big¬ 
gest and the finest in the club’s history, and to that 
end Jimmy Donovan personally saw to the details, 
even to the decorations of the hall, to the hiring 
of Rosenbluth’s Jazz Kings, to the catering and 
cloak-room arrangements, and the like. He did his 
work well and the affair proved to be no disap¬ 
pointment. 

Not only were the Car Barners present to the last 
man, but also dressy delegations from the affiliated 
gangs attended, and these, together with the unat¬ 
tached youth and beauty of the neighborhood, made 
up a crowd of several hundred. There were a dozen 
or more tuxedos in evidence, and several evening 
coats. The tails of these latter were considerably 
longer than usual and their collars rode high in the 
back, but they lent a distinction, a refinement of ele¬ 
gance, to the wearers which was well worth the 
rental price. As for feminine loveliness, there was 
a plenty. Your New York working girl adores 
parties, and with the Fifth Avenue shop windows 
17 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


to copy from she can manage, even on a small salary, 
to appear extremely chic. Jimmy told himself 
proudly, in looking them over, that the Ritz never 
boasted a sweller bunch of dames than this. 

His complacency received a jolt, however, when 
about ten o^clock Izzy the Jew, one of the men on 
the door, hurried to him with the breathless an¬ 
nouncement that the Mike Navarros were bu3dng 
tickets. 

‘‘There’s a dozen of ’em an’ their girls. Mike’s 
with ’em. They’re cornin’ up now.” 

Jimmy uttered an exclamation of dismay, then 
swiftly he sped to Big Ben Murray. There was time 
only for a whispered word of warning when Navarro 
himself appeared in the doorway followed by several 
other Italians and their lady friends. For a moment 
they stood in a group, eying the dancers revolving 
beneath the gaudy loops of paper decorations with 
which the hall was hung. 

Recognition was swift. There came a lull in the 
babble of voices, and the sound of scuffling feet 
alone kept time to the blaring saxaphones. Startled 
faces were turned toward the entrance; some of the 
couples ceased dancing. 

Donovan acted promptly, in the only manner possi¬ 
ble, by crossing the floor with hand extended and 
with an agreeable smile upon his face. 

“Hello, Mike!” he said, genially. 

i8 


BIG BROTHER 


Navarro limply took the proffered hand, ana 
showed his white teeth in an answering grin as Jimmy 
bade him welcome, but his eyes meanwhile remained 
watchful and the men who had come with him were 
equally alert 

‘‘You havin’ beeg dance, eh?” 

“Sure! De biggest we ever pulled. Me friends 
is all here. All of ’em.” Jimmy purposely empha¬ 
sized the last statement. “We’re coit’ny glad to see 
youse boys,” he lied. 

Navarro carelessly introduced his companions and 
Jim mitted them all, conscious the while that his 
palms were growing wet. A run-in with these Wops 
would have been welcome anywhere, any time, ex¬ 
cept here and now in the presence of these women 
and outsiders. He heard himself wishing the new¬ 
comers good health and talking about the weather. 
It was a grand night for a nice, orderly party, and 
the Pat McGraw parties were always orderly, with 
never a harsh word spoke by nobody, or if they did 
they got the worst of it, so a guy was safe in bring¬ 
ing his girl—he could bring his mother, for that 
matter—so long as she behaved herself—and the 
proprietors of the hall were personally liable for 
coats and hats. 

Navarro smiled fixedly and agreed that the club’s 
reputation was indeed excellent and that a nice 
time would undoubtedly be had by all. Several 

19 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of the couples who had come with him joined those 
on the floor; gradually the talking and the laughter 
were resumed. 

But a certain constraint lingered, and Jimmy 
Donovan cursed silently as he saw more than one 
pair of dancers slipping quietly out to the coat room. 
The mere presence of Navarro’s crowd would crab 
any party; already this one was cold. And of course 
they were looking for some sort of trouble. 

The late arrivals danced pretty much with their 
own partners, and between dances they remained 
close together, an ominous sign. As time wore on, 
Jimmy Donovan experienced all the discomforts of 
a Turkish bath and he gained little relief from the 
fact that Big Ben Murray and one or two other de- 
pendables managed invariably to remain in the rear 
or on the flank of the visitors. Ben was always a 
tower of strength, but to-night the worried Jim felt 
his heart go out to him. He was watchful, swift, 
and ruthless, was Ben; Jimmy Donovan was his god. 
li anything could deter Mike Navarro and his gun¬ 
men from their evident purpose, the big gangster’s 
menacing presence should do so. 

As for Jimmy, himself, the situation demanded that 
he give no sign of apprehension and he rose to it 
as best he could, but he managed most of the time 
to remain in the vicinity of the switch box which 
controlled the lights in the hall. 


20 


BIG BROTHER 


The explosion was slow in coming; Navarro’s girl 
set the spark when one of the Car Barn men asked 
her to dance. His request was formal; it was 
couched in polite words and voiced in a tone of such 
perfect respect that Mrs. Astor herself could not have 
resented it. 

‘T’d t’ank ye for de nex’ waltz, if ye’d be so kind 
as to gimme it.” Thus the invitation was spoken. 

But Navarro’s girl screamed, and to her escort 
she cried, indignantly, “That bum insulted me!” 

Calamity followed. In one swift, sweeping move¬ 
ment Mike Navarro reached for his automatic, drew 
and fired it. But instead of firing at the man who 
had committed the outrage he fired at Jimmy Dono¬ 
van. The latter, however, at that first scream had 
been galvanized into movement equally swift, and 
the stevedore’s bullet buried itself in the wall a foot 
behind him as he ducked toward the switchboard. It 
would have been necessary to lead Jim as a flying 
bird is led. 

Before Navarro could fire a second time Big Ben 
Murray had shot him through the chest. 

The Italian reeled; he turned a queer, shocked 
face toward the tall gangster; his expression was one 
of stark, blank amazement. As his knees sagged 
and he pitched forward the weapons of his followers 
were turned upon his slayer. There was no missing 


21 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


the big fellow, for some of the Italians were within 
ten feet of him. Ben was riddled. 

Then the lights went out and black terror fell. 
There were more shots—wicked stabs of fire—a rush 
of trampling feet, a crashing of chairs overturned 
and smashed, a bedlam of shrieks and curses and 
hoarse shouts. Against the windows, illumined by 
the street lights from below, were silhouetted figures 
in flight, figures crouched in cowering dread, others 
struggling to reach the fire escapes or to hurl them¬ 
selves out. The crowd stampeded; it fought blindly; 
out into the hallway and down the stairs it surged. 

Jimmy Donovan threw on the lights when he felt 
sure the marauders had fled, and a tragic desolation 
was revealed. What he saw was furniture wrecked 
and overturned, band instruments abandoned, gar¬ 
ments strewn about, terrified and dishevelled crea¬ 
tures crouching in coders. It was as if the hall 
had been swept by a tornado. 

Navarro lay where he had fallen, but Big Ben 
had somehow dragged himself out from under the 
rushing feet and was propped upon his hands. 
Jimmy ran to him, and it was well he came, for the 
big gangster was fighting for his last breath. 

Donovan sobbed and cursed in broken, choking 
gasps as he took Ben into his arms. 

^‘He’d W copped ye, Jim, only I beat him to it.” 


22 


BIG BROTHER 


“Ben! Wha’d ye let them rats get ye for? For 
de love o’ God, Ben-1” 

Murray groaned with the pain of his going. When 
others came and proffered help in lifting him he 
rolled his head weakly. 

“Nuttin’ doin’!” he told them. Then: “Listen, 
Jimmy, I can’t—kick out like dis, on account o’ 
Midge. Y’know—me little brudder.” 

“Get a doctor!” Jimmy cried, furiously, at the 
bystanders. “Get a doctor, quick, damn youse!” 

Murray’s weight became heavier in his pal’s arms. 
“No chance. I got—mine. . . . But Midge! Ye 
gotta promise somethin’. . . . He’s all alone now, 
Jimmy. You—gotta take ’im.” 

“Sure! Sure I will, Ben, but—” 

“Honest to God?” 

“Honest to God! Only you ain’t-” 

“An’ bring him up decent. Y’know—^not like me 
an’ you.” 

“Sure.” 

“Mit me on it,” whispered the dying man, and 
Jimmy clasped his hand. 

“He’s a—swell kid. . . . Smart, too, but kinda 
tough, a’ready. . . Don’t let ’im kick out like— 

dis. . . .” The words were little more than a rustle 
in the giant’s throat, his lips were numb, his eyes 
were glazing. Then with a sudden, unexpected flicker 

23 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of strength he cried, “If anyone tries to loin ’im any¬ 
thing rotten —moider hem, Jimmy! Promise?hh 

“I promise. Sure I promise I hh Jimmy exclaimed, 
hoarsely. “But you ain’t goin’ to kick out. Honest 
you ain’t, Ben. You canH—t Ben—! Benny, old 
pal—1 Benny—! Oh, my God!” 

The police were entering now, followed by a curi¬ 
ous crowd from the street. Some of them came and 
stood over the leader of the Car Barn gang, but 
not until one of them touched him upon the shoulder 
did he seem to know they had arrived. Then it 
was a bleak and stricken face he raised. 

“I think I got something on this Donovan bird,” 
Patrolman Collins confided to his fellow officer, 
Burke, perhaps two weeks after the Navarro raid. 
Collins and Burke were new men and they cherished 
a natural ambition to land the elusive Car Barn 
leader. 

“He never started that row with the wops, if that’s 
what you mean. I frisked him and he had nothin’ 
on him,” said Burke. 

“Oh, sure! It ain’t that; he’s smugglin’ some queer 
stuff into his room. First off a big teakettle or what 
looked like it, then a tub an’ a lot of packages, I 
couldn’t make out what. Sneaky about it, too.” 

“Yeah?” 

“I ast him what was the tub; if he was startin’ a 
24 


BIG BROTHER 


laundry or something, an’ he says, ^No. I got a 
Norwegian goldfish an’ he’s outgrown his cage,’ 
Fresh as usual. He’s bought an erl stove an’-” 

‘‘Oho! A teakettle, eh?” Burke was excited. 
“That was a still! An’ the tub’s for his mash!” 

“Surest thing you know. If we crash in on him 
about the time he gets all set up an’ the. mash is 
good an’ sour he’ll have a hard job convincin’ the 
judge it’s turtle soup he’s makin’, won’t he?” 

“I’ll tell the world!” Mr. Burke enthusiastically 
agreed. “It’ll be poor us landin’ young Houdini, 
right off the bat. Poor! He’ll have the worm 
workin’ about Saturday night. An’ us on the beat 
less’n a month! Say! It’s the young fellahs that 
knows how to use their head. A lotta these old 
wrinkles have been on the force so long they think 
a skull was just made to stretch a cap over, eh?” 

During the next few days it did indeed seem as 
if the Car Barn leader must be engaged in some 
enterprise more than usually shady, for his ac¬ 
tions were queer and in his bearing he was furtive, 
self-conscious, nervous. When Saturday night came 
and he returned home early in the evening, Collins 
and Burke closed in with the practical assurance that 
at last they had him. 

Cautiously they felt their way up the dark stairs 
of the tenement in which he roomed. Outside his 
door they were halted by the sound of voices, one 

25 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


deep, firm, reassuring, the other high-pitched, thin, 
with a reedy quality induced evidently by some in¬ 
tense emotion. It appeared to be protesting wildly, 
hysterically, and—yes, profanely. Its profanities 
were broken by sobs. 

Collins touched his companion on the arm and 
whispered, ^^He^s got a girl. Tryin’ to make her 
bootleg for him. Ready?” 

The door creaked, bulged, gave way before the 
pressure of two burly shoulders; Collins spoke 
sharply as he stepped inside: 

‘‘Stick ^em up, Donovan! We want to taste that 

goldfish-” He did not finish his sentence, for an 

unexpected sight greeted him. 

The room was warm and rankly odorous, to be 
sure, but not with the pungent fumes of fermenting 
mash. It smelled of laundry soap. Nor was there 
anywhere visible the bulging copper still, the coiled 
tubing, and other paraphernalia Collins and his pal 
had expected. Instead they beheld a galvanized iron 
washtub in the middle of the floor, and in the middle 
of the tub a very small, very angry, very tearful 
naked boy. He was soaped until he shone like a 
baby seal, and Jimmy Donovan, the street bandit, 
with coat off, sleeves up, and with a bungalow apron 
tied around his neck, was scrubbing the child with 
a brush—or thus he had been engaged when inter- 
26 



BIG BROTHER 


rupted. He stood now facing the officers, poised in 
scowling defiance. 

^‘W^at t’hell?” he queried, furiously, and both 
policemen were somehow aware that his anger was 
caused less by their sudden appearance than by his 
own outlandish garb and humiliating occupation. 
He did not lift his hands aloft. 

At sight of the intruders the diminutive figure in 
the tub had doubled up in maiden modesty. It 
stamped its feet, then suddenly subsided—plunged it¬ 
self into the soapsuds until only its head and shoul¬ 
ders were exposed, 

“Get out, ya big bums!” it yelled, shrilly. “Get 
t^hell outa here. Beat it!” 

“Say—^what’s goin’ on?” Collins demanded, stu¬ 
pidly. He was sure there must be a still somewhere 
about, for the fanciful picture he had painted re¬ 
mained vividly in his mind. All he could see, how¬ 
ever, was an ordinary room with two beds, an oil 
stove, a bureau, and the usual furnishings of a man’s 
quarters—nothing more damning in the way of evi¬ 
dence. 

“Looks like a pinch,” the owner of the place 
snarled at him. “Well, what’s on your mind besides 
hair? I s’pose I stole de Custom House. Hurry up, 
spill it.” 

Burke inquired: “Whose kid is that? An’ what 
you doin’-?” 


27 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

“He’s my kid, Midge Murray. Big Ben left him 
to me. Ye can’t book a guy for washin’ his own kid. 
It’s Saturday night, ain’t it? Or mebbe youse new 
coppers has changed de law, an’ de day o’ de week, 
too.” 

Mr. Burke looked at Mr. Collins. Mr. Collins re¬ 
turned the stare. A faint flush colored their sun¬ 
burnt faces. “Um-m! There’s a lot of hootch bein’ 
made. You luggin’ in all that plunder an’ every- 
tliing-” 

Midge’s eyes were red from the soap and from 
his tears, but he ceased rubbing them long enough 
to curse the officers anew and to make his own feel¬ 
ings understood beyond the slightest doubt. It was 
bad enough to be held under water by a big bully who 
soaped you all over and then scrubbed you with a 
stiff brush that hurt like hell, but to have strangers 
witness the indignity was more than he proposed 
to stand. 

“Whaddya lookin’ at, ya big tripes?” he shouted. 
“I’ll get ya for dis; seef I don’t get ya. Me ’n’ my 

gang-” Midge’s groping hands encountered 

somewhere in the tub the bar of soap that had been 
the cause of so much of his earlier anguish and 
seized upon it. He rose to hurl it at the nearest blue- 
coat, but it slipped out of his fingers and went skitter¬ 
ing across the floor. Again he subsided with a wail. 
But he kicked his feet and splashed terribly. “T’row 
28 




BIG BROTHER 


’em out, Jimmy. Bounce de kittle on ’eml” he 
squalled. “Ain’t ya got de guts to bean a coupla 
squaretoes?” 

“Ben kinda let him have his own way,” Jimmy 
explained, “but I’m gonna make a man of him. Me, 
I ain’t got de time, no more, to bootleg, if I 
wanted to.” 

“Let’s go,” said Officer Burke, and without a word 
Collins followed him out of the room. 

It was true enough, Jimmy Donovan had taken 
his oath at par. He was not one to discoimt a 
promise exacted by a dying friend. Following Big 
Ben’s going he had accepted a brother’s full responsi¬ 
bility and now he suffered the consequences thereof, 
if not patiently, at least philosophically. Those con¬ 
sequences were more painful than ordinarily they 
would have been, for, although Ben had been a 
sturdy protector and had provided well enough for 
little Midge’s animal comfort, he had allowed the boy 
to run wild and to develop an independent habit of 
looking out for himself, and naturally, therefore. 
Midge resented a show of authority on the part of 
an outsider, even though that outsider was Jimmy 
Donovan, his hero. A hero is all very well until you 
live with him and he begins to butt into your private 
affairs. Yes, and what could be more private, more 
sacred, than the right to bathe when and where and 
how you feel like bathing? 

29 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


If the truth must be known, Midge was not very 
clean when he came to Jimmy. In the summer it 
had been his habit to go paddling in the East River, 
but in winter, of course, there was no swiniming, so 
when his new guardian, who was as meticulous as 
a cat in the care of his own person, told him that 
he was getting a bit ^^gamey” and admonished him 
to have a clean-up, the boy paid no heed. Bathing 
was a matter that could be attended to the first thing 
in the spring. Jimmy spoke to him several times; 
at last he ordered him to take a bath and to do it 
that very Saturday night. Midge retorted by telling 
him to go to hell and not to wait for Saturday. The 
result of that clash has just been told. 

The two clashed again that evening. Their wills 
met for a second time when Jim unwrapped a flannel 
nightdress and told the boy to get into it. Midge 
eyed the garment with disdain and for the n\h. time 
told Jimmy what he thought of him. Jim was big 
enough and brutal enough to hold him down while 
he deliberately rubbed soap in his eyes and scoured 
the skin off his body with a wire brush—any big 
stiff could do that to a guy half his size—so he could 
probably put that thing on him, if he set his mind 
to it, but he. Midge Murray, was damned if Jim, 
or anybody else, was big enough to make him keep 
it on. He didn^t propose to wear girls’ clothes, even 
in bed. None of that effeminate stuff for him. He’d 
30 


BIG BROTHER 


run away first. He’d go out West and join the 
Indians. The more he considered this proposition, 
the sorer and the more profane he became, until 
Jim had to read him a lecture on the evils of 
swearing. 

It was the first lecture Donovan had ever delivered 
and he made heavy weather of it. When at last he 
had the boy in bed and the room tidied up and had 
gone down to join the gang, he was worn out. 

It is characteristic of members of the underworld, 
so called, that they look after their young with a 
jealous care often lacking among people who move 
in higher circles of society. So it was with Donovan. 
To his mind, proper care commenced with cleanli¬ 
ness, so he commenced his education of the waif by 
inducing him to look upon bathing not as some 
absurd heathen ritual, but as a duty and a pleasure. 
He made of it a sort of game and convinced the boy, 
after some trying, that a stiff-bristled brush tickled 
almost as much as it hurt, if a fellow only thought it 
did, also that on week days it was practically as easy 
to wash back of one’s ears as to trust to luck, and 
finally that it was a distinction, not a disgrace, to be 
cleaner than other boys. 

No growing thing responds so quickly to weeding, 
to care, and to cultivation, as a child; once Midge’s 
hostility had been overcome, his physical condition 
began to improve and his mind to grow. Nobody 

31 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


had ever taken an active personal interest in him 
up to this time, so when Jim adopted the practice 
of hearing his school lessons the boy was stimulated 
to study harder than ever before. This was fun; 
lesson books took on a new significance. It was 
tough on Jim, to be sure, for nobody is so busy as 
the man who loafs—the shorter a personas hours of 
actual toil, the harder it is to find an extra one for 
others—nevertheless he persisted, for Ben had made 
him promise to bring up the boy decently, not as 
they had been brought up. Donovan’s severest trial, 
however, came when he helped Midge with his 
catechism, for here was something both foreign and 
distasteful. What portion of it he understood, he 
disagreed with. It was ^hhe bunk.” Still, kids 
needed religion, he reasoned, so he did his part and 
pretended that this was his gospel. 

Of course, it was not long before a real companion¬ 
ship developed between the two, and for Midge life 
began to take on a new and wholly delightful as¬ 
pect. He quickly grew to idolize the man he had 
merely liked and admired, and when he showed his 
love, his trust, his admiration, Jim experienced mo¬ 
ments of mingled rapture and discomfort. To 
awaken sincere, unselfish adoration, even in a child, 
was thrilling; it hurt to realize how completely mis¬ 
placed it was. He told himself that he certainly had 
the kid fooled, and that it was the duty of all grown 

32 


BIG BROTHER 


folks to keep kids fooled until they grew up and 
had children of their own to fool; nevertheless, it 
continued to hurt. 

When Midge was good, Jimmy did tricks for him, 
all sorts of tricks. When Jim was good, Midge sang 
for him. The lad had a velvety, untrained soprano 
voice with a peculiar emotional quality to its high 
notes and he knew a verse or two of most of the 
late songs, especially the popular “Blues.’’ Some 
of the verses were not pretty, but Jim loved to listen 
to them as they came from the boy’s lips. 

The question of diet finally arose to concern the 
gangster. As a child, Jim had eaten what he could 
get, where and when he could get it, and he had 
always accepted the comfortable theory that any¬ 
thing a kid is big enough to eat he is old enough to 
eat. But that theory did not appear to fit Midge. 
In spite of all the good, nourishing steak, fried pota¬ 
toes, cabbage, baked beans, pie, and coffee Jim could 
pile into him, the boy refused to fatten. On the 
contrary, he grew ever more skinny. Jimmy con¬ 
sulted several mothers, but about all the satisfaction 
he got out of them was the statement, variously ex¬ 
pressed, that Midge was mighty fortunate in having 
so much elegant and high-priced food to prey upon, 
and the wish that their own Mickeys and Tommies 
and Tinos had the half of his luck; so one day he 
33 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


made bold to speak to Kitty Costello. Kitty knew 
everything. 

“De Greek has got standin’ orders to wrap dat 
boy around t’ree squares a day/’ he explained, ^^but 
it’s no good. He gets littler an’ littler. Why, he 
ain’t de size o’ me thumb I” 

“Do you board at a restaurant?” the girl inquired, 
in some surprise. 

“Sure. De best ain’t good enough for Midge.” 

“Of course he eat’s anything he wants?” 

“If I got de price, he does. Anyt’ing an’ every- 
t’ing.” 

“No wonder he’s underweight. Why, that’s—• 
criminal! He must have milk and well-cooked 
cereal and stewed fruit and-” 

“At de Greek’s? Say! Ham an’ cabbage is his 
speed. Coffee an’ sinkers is de lightest diet he knows 
de price of.” 

“Oh, you’ll have to cook his food—^his breakfasts 
at least! Perhaps-” 

“Who? Me?” Jim stared at the speaker in open 
dismay. “Me cook? I might take a chance on 
supper, but— breakfast? Why, I ain’t up in time! 
Ain’t dere some joint where kids can eat—what’s 
good for ’em, I mean?” 

“Yes, several. The Ritz-Carleton is considered 
pretty good.” 


34 



BIG BROTHER 


Jimmy Donovan grinned. “All de same, it ain^t 
a bit too good for Midge.” 

“Then there’s the Roosevelt Home. Father Mar- 
ron can tell you-” 

“Nix!” Donovan^s smile suddenly vanished. 
“Send dat kid to a Home? Why, he’s mine! Ben 
Murray give ’im to me. I’d sooner swop me right 
eye. Yes, an’ a feller told me dey lick kids at dem 
Homes! For a fact! D’you t’ink I’d leave anybody 
lay a hand on Midge?” 

“All the same, if you can’t give him the care and 
the food he needs, he’ll have to be sent where some¬ 
body can and will give it to him.” 

“Oh, I can do it,” the man reluctantly acknowl¬ 
edged. “I’ll do more’n dat for him—I’d loin to 
hang by me ears, if it would do him any good. All 
I gotta know is de low-down—what he’s gotta have, 
y’understand? Breakfast? Sure! But Roosevelt 
Home? Huh! Him an’ me is buddies.” 

“Can you cook?” 

“Not a lick. But I got a new four-cylinder oil 
stove wit’ a limousine body.” 

Kitty frowned prettily—Jim had never realized 
how much prettier she was at close than at long 
range—then she said, “Somebody will have to show 
you. There’s a lot to learn and— Come along. I 
suppose I’ll have to get you started.” 

Here was a fine kettle of fish, Jimmy told himself 
35 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


as he led the way to his room. This meant he’d 
have to get an alarm clock, for Midge was out on 
the street every morning ahead of the sparrows. 
Visions of oatmeal pots, milk bottles, dirty dishes, 
filled him with consternation. 

After Kitty had inspected the premises, she took 
the owner out with her to buy dishes, cooking 
utensils, and a few necessary supplies, and these she 
gave him to carry. Now to fetch and to carry at the 
bidding of a girl—of any girl—was deeply embarrass¬ 
ing to Donovan, for of course the gang was bound 
to hear about it; nevertheless, the experience was 
in some ways decidedly pleasant. Kitty Costello 
was even nicer than people had said she was and 
she had such a cool, frank, impersonal way of doing 
things that you couldn’t be bashful. She was not 
like other women, forever giggling and tittering and 
saying, “Ain’t you awful, Mr. Donovan I” 

Jim’s first cooking lesson was in some ways a 
hideously trying experience, and yet he loved it, for 
Kitty’s presence, her nearness to him, was an in¬ 
toxication. When finally she had to go, he mildly 
ventured the hope that she would look in once and 
a while and see how the new diet agreed with Midge. 

“Why, of course I will!” she told him. “This 
is only your first lesson and—^you’re not very bright, 
are you?” 

“Dat’s just me way,” he protested, with his en- 
.^6 


BIG BROTHER 


gaging crooked grin. ‘‘YouM be surprised how easy 

I pick up some t’ings-” Too late he realized 

what he had said, and to cover his embarrassment he 
ran on: ^^But Midge is bright. Some smart kid, Idl 
say.’’ 

Kitty nodded. Her clear gray eyes were serious, 
searching. “He is that, and you’ve got to be careful 
he doesn’t learn to—^pick up things he shouldn’t.” 

Jimmy’s flush deepened. “I’m goin’ to make a 
square guy of him,” he declared, earnestly. “I dunno 
but I’ll send him to college.” 

“Better send him to church, too.” 

“Sure! Choich is good for kids, an’ anyt’ing good 
for a kid, he gets.” 

Not until his caller had gone did Donovan realize 
that in his confusion he had made a bad break. Kitty 
herself was a great churchgoer. She was, in fact. 
Father Marron’s right hand; she kept his rectory 
books in her odd moments, and sometimes she acted 
as his organist. He hoped she hadn’t misunderstood 
him. Church, of course, was good for women as well 
as kids. 

In the tenement districts of all great cities there 
are Kitty Costellos—clean-minded, clean-living, 
hard-working girls; girls who bring sunshine into 
the shadows, girls who daily tread mire and remain 
undefiled. This particular Kitty was that sort; her 
motto was, “Mind your God and your job,” and she 
37 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


religiously lived up to it, although without any very 
definite idea just where obligations of the one left 
off and the other commenced. Most of her time she 
put in as bookkeeper in a foundry and machine 
shop, but she managed somehow to have enough left 
over to do other things—things for which she was 
paid not in money, but in the smiles of sick mothers, 
in the laughter of children, in the blind touch of 
tiny, clinging fingers. Kitty would have been sur¬ 
prised if anyone had called her a welfare worker 
or a philanthropist, for welfare workers drive around 
in closed cars and send up word for poor people to 
come down and receive alms or hints on hygiene, and 
philanthropists give huge sums of money to institu¬ 
tions. All Kitty had to give was herself and the 
work of her hands. Following her first visit to 
Jimmy Donovan’s home, it became a part of her 
weekly routine to teach him how to cook oatmeal 
and broths and things of that sort. 

The Car Barn leader had a reputation for clever¬ 
ness, but Kitty was astonished at his slowness in 
learning how to care for Midge. He was always 
consulting her, always after advice. She had to 
tell him the same thing time after time. But his 
gratitude was touching and gratitude invariably 
thrilled Kitty. The meaning of his stupidity struck 
her, finally, not because of anything he said or did— 
he treated her with formal deference and with a 
38 


BIG BROTHER 


respect akin to reverence—but because of a realiza¬ 
tion of her own feelings for him. Her awakening 
came one Saturday afternoon while she was helping 
Father Dan Marron with his books of account. 

Kitty was in the latter’s study when he received a 
caller in the person of Mr. Lowman Duryea, a real 
eighteen-karat charity worker of the Park, Avenue 
brand. 

Mr. Duryea was an earnest, fervent person and 
he took his work seriously: he had come to see 
Father Dan about a small boy in this very parish. 
Mr. Duryea was connected with the Social Uplift 
League, a non-sectarian organization, but he felt 
sure the priest would be glad if he called attention to 
a poor little Catholic child whose plight he had acci¬ 
dentally discovered in the course of his labors. The 
lad’s name was Murray; he had been left wholly de¬ 
pendent by the death of his brother, an imdesirable 
character from all accounts, and he had fallen into 
hands even worse—the hands of none other than 
Jim Donovan, a notorious gang leader. 

Kitty Costello laid down her pencil and listened. 

“I know,” Father Dan was saying. know 
little Midge, and Donovan, too. For the first time 
in his life the lad is getting enough to eat and clean 
clothes to wear. I’ve just made him a choir boy 
as a reward for his improved appearance and be¬ 
havior.” 


39 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Mr. Duryea was astonished. It was a moment 
before he could protest. “But the influence! Food! 
Clothes! They’re not everything.” 

“True. But they’re a good deal, in this neighbor¬ 
hood, and I wish more of our kids had more of 
both.” 

“I—I’m surprised at your attitude,” the caller 
stammered. “The boy is at the impressionable age 
and—the man is all I said, isn’t he?” 

“All, and more, I’m afraid. And yet he’s genuinely 
fond of Midge.” 

“Bosh! Probably the boy amuses him. Probably, 
too, he’s raising him to a life of crime. What else 
could we expect? I, for one, shan’t permit it. His 
soul is in your hands. Father. If you can’t see his 
danger, there’s only one thing for me to do—take 
his case to the Children’s Court. I can at least 
see that his moral welfare is-” 

“Wait!” Kitty Costello broke in abruptly. “You 
mustn’t do that. You— mustnH! Father Dan is 
right; Jimmy Donovan loves the boy and—he’s 
better off where he is. I know. Why, it would kill 
Midge to be taken away! He’s a poor, starved little 
mite—starved for love and care and attention. 
Jimmy’s giving it to him.” 

“And teaching him to steal, I’ve no doubt,” Mr. 
Duryea said, crisply. 

“Jimmy isn’t a thief! Not a—a regular thief, 
40 



BIG BROTHER 


anyhow. I—don’t know what he is, but I do know 
that he’s caring for little Midge splendidly and it 
would be cruel to separate them.” 

“Kitty has been looking after the boy a bit, her¬ 
self,” Father Marron explained. 

^^WelU” Duryea looked from one face to the 
other. “This is surprising, especially in view of the 
character of-” 

“You’ll find much to surprise you when you know 
this parish as Kitty and I know it.” The priest pon¬ 
dered for a moment before he went on. “She has it 
right, in this case, for she sees with the eyes of her 
soul whereas you and I—you’ll pardon me, Mr. 
Duryea—we’re just a couple of stupid men without 
much to see with except the eyes in our heads. 
There’s all the difference in the world. Jimmy 
Donovan is a loafer—that’s putting it mildly—but 
he has possibilities^—more possibilities than almost 
any man in this part of town—and while we’re en¬ 
gaged in this job of soul-saving, wouldn’t it be well 
to remember that he has one, too?” 

“Of course, if you expect him to reform-” 

“He has given me no reason to think he’ll do 
that.” 

“Then I can’t subscribe to your attitude.” Duryea 
was growing impatient. “When a man has proven 
himself to be thoroughly bad-” 

Again the priest interrupted: “ ^Thoroughly bad,’ 

41 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


eh? Did you ever know anybody—man, woman or 
child—who was that? I never did, and IVe met the 
worst. Thoroughly bad, is it? D’you know what 
happened to the old Car Barn gang? D^ou know 
how Donovan came to be leader of this new crowd? 
Well, I’ll tell you. The old gang went to war. They 
were a wild and lawless bunch and they didn’t know 
there was a war going on, or if they did they paid 
little attention, being pleasantly engaged in beating 
up coppers and stealing lead pipe and fighting other 
gangs and the like. But one day they were rounded 
up and told about it. They were told also that the 
young men of America had to work or fight—their 
country demanded it. You remember that slogan, 
don’t you? 

“ Work or fight!’ they said. Ts it goin’ as bad 
as that with our side?’ 

Tt is,’ they were told. ‘The Germans are 
winning.’ 

“Well, they talked it over between themselves 
right there; then they said, Tt serves ye right for 
keepin’ this war so quiet, but, now we know about 
it, things ’ll be different right away. You prob’ly 
got fellers that understand more about workin’ than 
us, but fightin’I That’s our dish! Keep this war 
goin’ the best ye can until we can get there. Now 
then, where’s the nearest ticket office?’ 

“They went over, to the last man, with the Fight- 
42 


BIG BROTHER 


ing Sixty-ninth. A lot of them are over there now, 
under the poppy fields of France. We raise boys 
like that in these East Side walk-ups, Mr. Duryea, 
but—some of them are never called. Donovan is 
one. If ever he is called, he’ll go, and I’m praying 
that some day, somehow, the call will come. Perhaps 
it will be the voice of little Midge Murray. Who 
knows? Meanwhile, it seems to me that things 
might be worse with the lad, for Jimmy is keeping 
his belly full of food, Kitty’s teaching him to sing, 
and I’m doing the best I can to let him know there’s 
a loving God. It was nice of you to come, however.” 

When Kitty went home that night she knew what 
had happened to her. She knew why it gave her 
more joy to do for Midge and Jimmy than for others, 
and she wondered why she had not realized the truth 
long before. She knew, too, why Jimmy had pre¬ 
tended to be so stupid. Of course he loved her, 
blindly, devotedly, hopelessly; he had shown it in 
a thousand ways. What else could explain his gen¬ 
tleness, his shyness, the tones of his voice when he 
spoke to her? And of course he would never tell 
her. She knew him too well for that. And he 
knew her. But what a wretched state of affairs! It 
completely destroyed Kitty’s opinion of herself, for 
she felt certain that no really nice girl, no honest, 
high-principled girl, could care for a—a crook, even 
though he were a sort of Robin Hood and had eyes 
43 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of Irish blue and a smile that tugged at women^s 
heartstrings. He was a crook. She repeated the 
word aloud, tasting its bitter flavor—crook, crook, 
crook! She arranged her little errands of mercy 
thereafter so that they took her elsewhere, but when 
necessity forced her to pass the building where 
Jimmy and Midge lived, she hurried, for invariably a 
panic overtook her. 

Mrs. Sheehan had just had her fifth and things 
were not altogether well with her. Mr. Sheehan 
worked nights and had little to do with, so Kitty 
Costello, after her hours at the office, had been doing 
the housework and looking after the little one, to¬ 
gether with the third and fourth Sheehan children, 
who were still too young to look after themselves. 
This evening the mother herself required more than 
the usual amount of attention, for during the day 
she had become convinced that she was going to die, 
and that conviction had grown hourly. She could 
not be talked out of it, so when she tearfully de¬ 
manded Father Marron, Kitty fetched him. 

She and Father Dan sat until after midni^t with 
the sick woman, and between them they quieted her 
so that she dozed off. Noting the pallor of weariness 
in Kitty’s cheeks and the droop of her tired shoul¬ 
ders, the priest at last whispered to her: 

44 


BIG BROTHER 


‘‘Run along home, now, and get some sleep, my 
dear.” 

Kitty roused herself with an effort; then she 
shook her head. ‘Tt^s too late—too dark. I’d rather 
wait for you.” 

Father Dan regarded her curiously. Here was 
something new—Kitty Costello afraid of the dark! 
He asked her what she feared. 

After some hesitation she told him: “That fellow 
Miller lives next door and nearly every time I’ve 
come in or gone out I’ve—he’s—spoken to me. If 
you don’t mind. I’ll wait.” 

“But I do mind. I’ll not have you sick. Why, 
the whole parish would be on my hands! I spoke 
to Donovan. That Miller wretch wouldn’t dare 
molest you. If it would make you feel easier I’ll 
watch you up the block from the window there. Be 
a good girl now and run home. I’ll be sitting here 
for hours yet.” 

Eatty was indeed fagged, so she did as directed. 
Father Dan listened to her descending the stairs 
and smiled gently. As if any man in this neighbor¬ 
hood would accost that girl, no matter what the hour 
or the circumstance I Certainly none of the Car 
Barn gang would do so, for it was a matter of honor 
with them never to annoy women. Just to reassure 
her he stepped to the window, cupped his hands over 
his eyes, and peered down into the street. He stood 
45 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


so for a moment, then with a smothered cry he 
turned and in two strides he was out of the room. 
He vaulted the railing that fenced in the narrow 
stair well and landed halfway down to the next floor; 
he fetched up at the street level with the crash of a 
falling body; then he was out upon the sidewalk. 
The street was empty; he crossed it flying to where 
Kitty stood backed into a doorway, her face blazing 
defiance at Cokey Joe Miller and two of his pals. 

The ruffians heard him coming and turned, but 
too late. Father Dan was upon them and he came, 
not as a priest, but as a man. Miller he sent 
sprawling he knew not how; then when one of the 
others flung up his arms in defiance Father Dan 
floored him, too. It was a mighty blow and it 
carried all the weight of his big body behind it. He 
turned, raging, upon the remaining member of the 
trio, one Monk Manelli, but recognition had been mu¬ 
tual and the amorous Mr. Manelli was in flight. 

“Come back! ” Father Dan shouted. “Come back, 

you dirty, cowardly-Miller was scrambling to 

his feet; the tall priest stooped and helped him up 
by the collar, then holding him in his two hands 
he gave vent to his fury by shaking the pallid wretch 
until his head rolled limply and his limbs snapped 
and whipped as if the bones within them were made 
of rope. He flung Cokey Joe away from him finally, 
crying: “I canT bear the feel of you! Get up and 
46 



BIG BROTHER 


get out, quick! Both of you. Get out of thig neigh¬ 
borhood and stay out, d’you understand? There’s 
no room here for vermin like you. Yes, and I’m go¬ 
ing to make it my business to see that you go to¬ 
night. Come along, Kitty.” 

Panting, muttering, rumbling angrily in his throat. 
Father Dan took the girl by the arm and fairly ran 
with her to her door, then without a word he turned 
and made swiftly back whence they had come. He 
knew where that precious trio would be found. He 
did not slacken his pace until he had reached the 
building in which the gang maintained its head¬ 
quarters. He took the stairs three steps at a time; 
the door to the clubroom flew open beneath his blow 
and there, sure enough, he found the men he sought. 

They had just come in. Cokey Joe was still 
pretty shaky and several of his friends had gathered 
around him. They looked up, startled, as the door 
crashed back upon its hinges. 

‘‘Where’s Donovan?” Father Dan demanded, 
loudly. 

The tone of this inquiry, the manner of the priest’s 
entrance, awoke instant resentment among the gang¬ 
sters, but one of them managed to answer, civilly 
enough: 

“He ain’t here. Father. What’s wrong?” 

“There’s a lot wrong, and I propose to fix it, right 
here and now.” Father Dan strode across the floor, 
47 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


his jaw set, a scowl upon his heavy face. His eyes 
were blazing. “Since when have you rowdies taken 
to insulting decent girls on the street? Answer me! ” 
There was no answer, merely an uneasy shifting of 
feet and an exchange of glances. “Think you can 
get away with that, do you? Think nobody can get 
your hides, eh? Well, I can. I’m going to take three 
of you out of here, right now, and they’re not coming 
back. Come on, you”—he indicated Cokey Joe— 
“and you. Monk, and that other fellow there. 
Quick!” 

“Say, looka here!” Manelli protested. “What’s 
the idea, buttin’ into private propity? This is a 
clubroom.” Gaining confidence from the sound of 
his own voice, he went on more defiantly: “Are you 
a cop, or somethin’? Where’s yer warrant? There’s 
no harm kiddin’ a girl. Girls like to be kidded-” 

With a swift movement Father Marron seized the 
gangster by the throat and thrust him back against 
the wall. He raised his hard-knuckled fist and in 
a voice of fury he cried: 

“Don’t take that tone to me!” 

“Easy, Father!” somebody exclaimed. “Monk’s 
all right. He didn’t mean nothin’. W’at’s all de ex¬ 
citement, anyhow?” 

“Sure! What’s goin’ on?” The voice was Jimmy 
Donovan’s. He had seen the priest enter the build- 
48 



BIG BROTHER 


ing; he stood in the open doorway now, eying the 
scene with cold disfavor. ^Why all de rough stuff?” 

‘T’ll tell you why,” the priest stormed. And he 
did. He could use harsh words, words with splinters 
in them, when aroused, could Father Dan, and now 
he fairly took the skin off his listeners. His indigna¬ 
tion scalded them, his scorn was like salt rubbed 
into raw sores, for the Car Barn boys had a sort 
of pride. First he relieved himself of a few things 
he had long wanted to tell them, and although they 
growled and muttered, their respect for his cloth 
was potent. Then he recounted precisely what had 
happened a quarter of an hour before. 

Jimmy Donovan had flamed with quick resent¬ 
ment at discovering the priest here, in a fighting 
mood, but as Father Dan told of the attack upon 
Kitty Costello he turned faint, sick; his face whit¬ 
ened, there came a roaring in his ears so loud that 
the priest^s strident voice was no more than a mur¬ 
mur—like the sound of the sea at Coney Island. 
Kitty! If only it had been any girl except Kitty. 
This was the end; the knockout. 

Gradually the roaring subsided, he heard Father 
Dan’s bitter words. 

“Father I ” Jimmy did not speak loudly, neverthe¬ 
less something in his voice drew all eyes away from 
the priest. Father Marron had seen men deeply 
moved and by emotions of various sorts; never be- 
49 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


fore, however, had he looked into a man^s face and 
beheld murder so plainly written there. But there 
could be no mistaking Jim^s intent. ‘‘T’ank ye for 
cornin’ up an’ puttin’ us wise. It’s all right. Dey 
was just kiddin’.” He turned his head slowly toward 
Cokey Joe and his two companions; the movement 
was like the turning of a snake’s head. ‘‘Tell her, 
will ye, dey was just kiddin’? She’s been awful 
good to my Midge. She’s awful good to everybody. 
Make her understand it was only a joke.” 

“You assured me it would never happen again, so 
—I came right here to headquarters,” the priest 
said, in a calmer tone. Dimly he realized that Dono¬ 
van had taken this affair upon his shoulders and 
would attend to it in his own way, but of a sudden 
that prospect awoke misgivings. 

“Sure! I gave ye me woid—me oath to God— 
an’ I been made a bum of. Dey made a bum of me 
gang, too.” 

“What are you going to do about it?” the visitor 
inquired, after a moment of silence. 

Donovan smiled, and Father Dan understood more 
clearly what it was in this dapper, quiet-mannered 
young fellow that had won him his czardom over 
these hard-boiled men. It was a mirthless, baleful 
smile, and it shockingly distorted Donovan’s pleasant 
features. He was all evil now, all cruelty, and the 
passion within him was the more terrible by reason 
SO 


BIG BROTHER 


of its momentary restraint. ^^Come along/’ said he. 
“Dis ain’t no place for youse.” 

Father Marron held back. His voice was quite 
normal for the first time when he said, “I’ll go—but 
on one condition.” The head gangster eyed him with 
a blank stare. Plainly his mind was upon the guilty 
trio. “I’ll go if you’ll go with me.” Jim shook his 
head impatiently. “Please! As far as the rectory. 
You—you can’t throw me out.” 

For an instant Donovan’s rage escaped him. “For 
the love o’ God, go/” he cried, hoarsely. 

“You can come back. I’ll not ask you to promise 
anything.” Father Dan linked his arm in that of 
the gangster and drew him toward the door. “It’s 
a grand night and we both need the air. I’ve no 
business standing around your elegant club house 
and putting a churchly pall on your enjoyment, but 
I’ll be hanging around until daylight, cracking jokes 
and telling stories to cover up my fear of the dark, 
unless you take me home. Come along now.” 

Donovan went, unsmilingly. He turned at the 
door to say, evenly, “Stick around, youse! I won’t 
be long.” 

Nobody ever heard what Father Dan Marron had 
to say during that slow walk to the rectory. Jimmy 
Donovan himself could not have told, for he remem¬ 
bered little, but when he returned, fifteen minutes 

51 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

later, three members of the Car Barn gang had dis¬ 
appeared. 

A natural curiosity as to the fate of Cokey Joe 
Miller and his two companions induced Father 
Marron to look up Jimmy Donovan a few days 
later. It was a bright, clear spring afternoon; the 
sun sparkled upon the waters of the East River 
and out of the wind it was warm enough for com¬ 
fortable loafing. The gang was down on the water 
front; they rose respectfully at the priest’s ap¬ 
proach. 

“Sit down,” he told them, “or crowd over and 
make room for one more. IVe been thinking I 
owe you boys an apology for my display of temper 
the other night. It was nice of you to treat me so 
politely.” 

“I’m polite to anny guy wit’ a good right hook,” 
said Spike Doyle. A crooked nose and cauliflower 
ear proclaimed the reason for Mr. Doyle’s respect. 
“It’s me fav’rite sleep mixture.” 

“Yeah! An’ dey don’t have to be so good, 
heider,” some one said, at which there was general 
laughter. 

Some months before, be it said. Spike, with a 
chain of victories at a local club behind him, had 
appeared at Madison Square Garden under the high- 
sounding but inaccurate nom de guerre of “The Hell 
Gate Terror.” There he had met a Jersey City 

52 


BIG BROTHER 


second-rater by the name of Horace Smith, who had 
given him ten pounds and the beating of his life, 
which explains the lack of S5mipathy of his fellow 
gangsters. 

keep in pretty good shape for a man in my 
business,the priest told him. He flexed his arm 
and Spike felt of its muscles. “My wind isn’t much, 
but I guess I could go two or three fast ones if I 
had to. By the way, when do you get a return match 
with that Jersey City lad? The papers said you 
had all the best of the first four rounds. I figured 
we were going to have a welterweight champion here 
on East Ninetieth Street.” 

“Sure I had de best of it. Didn’t I, fellers? Dat 
Smit’ kid ain’t got a t’ing in eider mit. De boys ’ll 
tell ye.” 

“Nuttin’ but a vitrified brick,” said Jimmy Dono¬ 
van. “I dunno what he packs in his left hand, but 
I lose eighty smackers on what he had in his right.” 

“A good left will beat a right any day,” Father 
Dan declared, and Spike agreed. Mr. Doyle was 
grateful to anyone who championed his cause, even 
indirectly, and promptly he launched himself into 
an elaborate post-mortem of the disastrous affray 
at the Garden. This Jersey bozo, according to him, 
was smeared with luck, that was all, and he. Spike, 
had underestimated him. Nothing but his own 
carelessness had been to blame for his defeat, but 
53 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


a man^s wife could knock him out if he happened 
to be reading the evening paper or if he was looking 
out of a window. Father Dan would admit that. 

The conversation became general; from pugilism 
it shifted to baseball and the reports from the spring 
training camps; to MeusePs batting and to McGraw’s 
latest trade, Father Marron joined in freely and 
proved able to argue intelligently on any phase of 
the game. He passed around cigars and lit one him¬ 
self. The gang had warmed up to him by now and 
had decided he was a regular fellow, but he waited 
in vain for any reference to Cokey Joe and the other 
absent men. 

The priest had been aware from the first that 
Donovan was unusually quiet, even absent minded, 
to-day, and finally he asked the reason. 

Jimmy told him, frankly enough: he was perish¬ 
ing of boredom; life was one long yawn. ^^De 
neighborhood’s on de bum. You couldn’t start a 
hubbub if Brian Boru was on one side o’ de street 
an’ Eddie Carson’s army was on de udder.” 

“Boredom is a hideous thing,” the priest agreed. 

“It’s de fault of de cops we got, nowadays. Floor¬ 
walkers ! If one of em spoils de shine on his finger 
nails he cries himself to sleep. Dey don’t pinch you 
no more; some dare-devil hands you an engraved 
invitation askin’ you please to attend a party down 
at Gen’ral Sessions, an’ kindly answer by bearer. 

54 


BIG BROTHER 

DeyVe adapted an official police-force flower—de 
wild rose.” 

^‘You^re craving excitement, I take it? Some¬ 
thing with a thrill?” 

‘‘You got it. IVe forgot de meanin’ o^ de woid.” 
“Hm-m! IVe been thinking about a new line for 
you, but”— Father Dan shook his head doubtfully. 
“I don’t know as you’d care to go through with it” 
“Why not?” 

“Well, because it would take—nerve.” 

Donovan stared at the speaker. So did the others. 
“Noive! It sounds good, don’t it, fellers?” 

“I’m afraid it would take more than you’ve got.” 
“If Jim ain’t got enough, who has?” demanded 
Doyle. 

“Sure, if it’s dat good, spill it,” Donovan urged. 
“All right. I was just thinking that it would 
give you a new sensation and maybe a thrill to come 
to vespers Sunday night and hear me preach.” 

There was a shout of laughter at this. Father 
Dan, it appeared, was a good two-handed kidder and 
the gang enjoyed their leader’s discomfiture. It 
wasn’t often they had a laugh at Jim’s expense. 

“I’m going to talk on a subject that will interest 
you.” 

But Jim shook his head positively. “Nix, Father! 
Choich is fine for women, but I ain’t been since I 
was confoimed.” 


55 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“I didnT expect you to come. In fact, I knew 
you wouldn^t.’’ 

‘my?’’ 

“Well, because I felt sure you were—yellow.” 

There v»^as a momentary hush, then Donovan 
said, soberly, “Dat’s kind of a bum joke.” 

“It’s no joke,” said the priest as he rose. “I 
mean it.” 

“Wait!” Donovan stopped him as he moved 
away. “Yeller, is it? Me yeller! You’re on; I’ll 
be dere!” 

“Atta boy, Jim!” somebody exclaimed, gleefully. 

“Give ’im the woiks; t’row de book at ’im while 
ye got ’im dere. Father,” another urged. 

“Yes, an’ de gang ’ll be wit’ me,” Jim declared, 
venomously. 

There came a howling chorus of protest at this: 
“Hey, Jimmy!” “Not’in’ doin’!” “How d’you get 
like dat?” 

“Dey’ll be dere,” Donovan firmly repeated. “Dem 
as ain’t will be in Bellevue.” 

Father Dan left them indignantly arguing the mat¬ 
ter with their leader. 

When Jim took time, later on, to consider Father 
Marron’s artifice, he did not think much of it; 
priests, it seemed to him, had a pretty punk sense 
of humor. Of course he’d go, for nobody could 
stand being called yellow, but as for thrills, as for 

56 


BIG BROTHER 


excitement—that was to laugh. His kind of excite¬ 
ment was not to be found in churches. No, he had 
been let in for a stupid and an embarrassing evening, 
but there was nothing to do except make the best 
of it. He was compensated by one thought—Kitty 
Costello would be there, for she was the organist, 
and it would be worth something just to see her, 
merely to sit and watch her from a distance. Father 
Dan’s preaching would have to be pretty rotten to 
spoil that. 

Of course Midge would be tickled pink, too, for 
the boy had been trying lately to induce him to go 
and hear him sing, but Jim had stalled. As he 
thought things over now, it struck him that he was 
stalling the kid more and more lately—a thing he 
did not enjoy doing. He would have greatly pre¬ 
ferred to be strictly on the square with the boy, for 
Midge himself was so straightforward, but that was 
the penalty of trying to raise a kid right—you had 
to practically live a lie. Jimmy did not like to lie— 
except to coppers. It was no crime to lie to them— 
in fact, it was the thing to do; it was kind of smart. 
It seemed to him, however, now that he considered 
it calmly, that lying to little boys was pretty small 
business, and for some time he racked his brains 
to discover a method of avoiding the necessity. But 
he was unsuccessful. 


57 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

Had a band of Zulu warriors in monkey-fur anklets 
and parrot-plume headgear filed in out of the street 
the next Sunday evening they would have caused 
no greater sensation among the members of Father 
Marron’s congregation than did the Car Barn gang 
when they came to vespers. Occupants of the rear¬ 
most pews suffered consternation, nay, panic, when 
Donovan’s men appeared, genuflected awkwardly, 
and took seats. Even those worshipers farther for¬ 
ward turned, craned their necks, then bent their 
heads together and—so it seemed to Jimmy—the 
very air of the place became filled with sibilant whis¬ 
perings. He felt sure that if he turned his stony 
gaze to right or to left he would discover worthy 
East Side residents in the act of hurriedly removing 
watches, wallets, and stickpins and burying them in 
their shoes, and it made him hot under the collar 
to note how late arrivals who slid into seats near 
him and his friends suddenly changed their minds 
and moved elsewhere. One man actually tripped 
over his own feet in his haste to seek another pew. 
Jim began to feel as if he and his companions had 
smallpox. Some reputation for a gang when its 
members couldn’t be trusted even in church! 

Of course there were a few comedians among the 
boys—fellows who had never attended a service— 
and they tried out some of their stuff, but Donovan 
discouraged them with a poisonous glare and they 
58 


BIG BROTHER 


promptly subsided. By the time the Psalms and the 
Capitulum had been sung, Jim^s first burning self- 
consciousness had cooled and he made bold to look 
about him. The church was beautiful, restful; it 
had an atmosphere that made itself felt. The glow¬ 
ing lights, the dignified, high-springing arches, the 
pure white Tabernacle, the figures of acolytes and 
torch bearers in cassocks and surplices, all were 
impressive, all appealed to Jim’s Irish love of pagean¬ 
try. Something about the imposing ceremony of the 
service struck a responsive chord in him, too, and 
he experienced an agreeable sense of familiarity 
with what was going on. His memory surprised 
him. 

A hymn was sung and he fancied he could dis¬ 
tinguish Midge’s voice among the others, but he did 
not turn his head to look. When the incensing 
of the altar had been finished, he told himself that 
the Church—his Church—certainly put on a good 
show—a darn sight better show, he was sure, than 
the Protestants or the Jews. Of course, the wop 
lingo was queer, but it lent both dignity and mys¬ 
tery to the ritual, and religion is something you 
don’t want to get too familiar with, anyhow. 

When it came time for the sermon, Jim was 
pleased to note that Father Marron talked to, and 
not at, his congregation, and to realize that it didn’t 
take a highbrow to vmderstand what he said. Even 
59 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

the slant-head members of the gang could get what 
he was telling them. As nearly as Jim could make 
out, the text of the sermon was that it takes a tough 
guy to go straight and the very novelty of the idea 
challenged his attention. Father Dan was all wrong, 
of course, for it was a cinch to run straight, other¬ 
wise why did all the suckers do it? Nevertheless, 
the priest made out a pretty good case—good enough, 
at least, for a bunch of boobs like these. Outside 
of Jim and his pals, there wasnT a wise guy in the 
audience. 

There was something else in the sermon, however, 
that hit Jim squarely and interested him far more 
than this fallacious text; that was Father Dan’s 
talk about the Big Brothers. Jim had never heard 
of the organization, in fact had no idea of the 
meaning of the movement, but when it was explained 
so that he grasped it, he sat up. Anything to do 
with kids or with the proper way of raising them 
struck home and was better than the best sermon 
ever preached. Here, for once, was common sense 
coming from the pulpit. Children are the first asset 
of our nation. If we go to elaborate cost and pains 
to conserve our coal and our timber and our grain 
—^all our natural resources, in short—^why not take 
equal pains and spend at least an equal sum to 
conserve the most vital, the most precious resource 
of aU, the youth of our country? There was a 
6o 


BIG BROTHER 


thought. Mines, lumber, land, wheat—are they 
worth as much as boys? Why save them and waste 
our children? Instead of spending enormous sums 
to punish crime, why not devote a part of that money 
to crime prevention and thus avoid the necessity 
of penitentiaries, and cut down the tremendous over¬ 
head of our elaborate punitive system? It can 
be done. Father Dan was firm on this point—and 
Jimmy Donovan felt like crying: ^^Atta boy! You 
said a mouthful! ’’ 

No one knew better than the gangster what dan¬ 
gers beset city boys and the blighting effect of crimi¬ 
nal associations during their formative years. He 
had taken that whole course in person and his con¬ 
cern for little Midge had cost him much peace of 
mind lately. What is more, he knew the evils that 
follow the law’s corrective measures and it was his 
private belief that crime at its worst is not so bad 
as the effect of the laws against it. He had seen 
youths, and men, too, come out of jail so much 
worse than when they went in that he felt sure those 
reformatories worked infinitely more harm than 
good, effected ruin more often than reform. For 
that reason he detested the entire legal machinery 
of coppers and courts and prisons and the like, and 
included in his detestation the so-called ‘^goody- 
goody” people who are in favor of them. He con¬ 
sidered the whole device an inhuman engine of de- 

6i 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


struction, a juggernaut into the cogs of which it is 
any man’s privilege to cast a monkey wrench. 

Jim had never bothered to think very clearly along 
these lines, but it was about thus that his mind 
had worked; and to learn now from Father Dan that 
these ^^good” people who were at the bottom of the 
whole thing shared his ideas about courts and 
prisons surprised him. To be told that they actually 
had taken measures to help wayward boys, had 
devised a means of defeating those very laws, as¬ 
tonished him even more and raised them consider¬ 
ably in his estimation. 

He followed the priest’s description of an actual 
case at the Juvenile Court—the case of a boy ar¬ 
rested for theft. His father was a drunkard and 
he himself was a pitiful product of neglect—a cor¬ 
nered, frightened, bewildered little creature who had 
been led to believe that every man’s hand was 
against him. His guilt had been established and 
the law had exacted its penalty; he had been sen¬ 
tenced to a reformatory—crematory was a better 
name, according to Father Dan, since so often those 
institutions consume the youth that enters and turn 
out useless, bitter ash—when the League had inter¬ 
vened. It had offered to take the boy, stand good 
for him, find him a home, and appoint a Big Brother 
who would look out for him and be a decent, guid¬ 
ing influence. 


62 



BIG BROTHER 


Jim thrilled as he listened to the happy outcome 
of that case. If this was religion, his ideas of it had 
been all wrong. 

There were Big Brothers in this audience, men who 
loved kids and were willing to sacrifice themselves 
to the ideals of the organization; it was to them, 
in fact, that Father Dan was talking; and Jim be¬ 
gan to experience a warm, brotherly feeling for the 
people in this church—the very people he had hated 
when he came in. He, too, was a Big Brother; he 
was as much of a hero as any one of them, for he 
was doing the same sort of thing for his Midge. 

The sermon was over before he knew it and then 
came the big punch of the evening. Midge sang 
a solo. 

At the first note Jim started, ceased breathing; 
for a moment it seemed to him that the whole church 
had began to revolve and he felt himself to be in 
danger of falling out of his pew. The idea of Midge, 
his Midge, singing alone, in this place, and to all 
these people! And they were listening, too. Why, 
the boy was a part of the service, like Father Dan! 
There was something hallowed about him; you 
a>uld hear it in his voice. It wasn’t a boy’s voice 
at all, it was the voice of an angel, and it stirred 
emotions impossible to describe. They hurt and 
yet they were ineffably sweet 

Members of the gang who watched Jimmy saw 

63 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


a great wonder, a great pride, a great gladness, come 
into his face; slowly, as if twisted by some invisible 
hand, he turned until his shining eyes rested upon 
the singer. 

In Father Marron^s church the choir loft is not 
in the gallery, but at the rear between the entrances, 
hence the singers, and the organist, too, are visible 
from all parts of the floor if one turns to look. 

Moments of exaltation come to everybody, mo¬ 
ments of peculiar emotional fervor—they are the 
stirrings of the soul, perhaps—and such a moment 
Jimmy Donovan experienced now. It must be re¬ 
membered that generations of devout worshipers 
were back of him and that he had inherited certain 
religious tendencies, even superstitions; at any rate, 
when he saw little Midge in his snowy surplice he 
could swear that a mysterious white light suffused 
the boy. Nor had Midge ever sung like this before; 
it was indeed the voice of the cherubim that issued 
from his throat. 

Jim had experienced many thrills, but never any¬ 
thing that stirred him, startled him, so deeply as 
this when, it seemed to him, the veil parted before 
his mortal eyes and he looked straight up to the 
throne of God. 

He left the church in a daze; he was unaware of 
bidding the gang good night, but found himself later 
wandering the streets alone and in a mood such 
64 


BIG BROTHER 

as he had never experienced. He was tired, limp 
as a rag, and yet he had never been more restless, 
more wide awake, more unsatisfied, than now. The 
vision of a child in white, a holy child, a Christ Child, 
was burned into his mind and he could not rid him¬ 
self of it. Sleep was impossible so long as it per¬ 
sisted so vividly. 

It was late when he tiptoed into his room and 
stood over Midge’s bed. Even yet there was a halo 
about the boy’s head; the very pillow upon which 
it rested glowed with a soft radiance that somehow 
did not seem to come from the reflection of the 
street lamps below. Jim told himself that he’d 
be seeing pink lizards and yellow crocodiles next and 
would have to be tied down to his bed. 

During the next week the gang saw little of their 
leader, for he had developed a grouch worse than 
his previous irritation and boredom, and he kept to 
himself. It was a trying week for the gangster. 
Father Dan had certainly put a jinx on him. It 
served him right for going to church. He wondered 
if he would ever learn to refuse a dare. For a long 
time now he had been deeply dissatisfied with every¬ 
thing and with everybody except himself; but ever 
since his queer experience of Sunday evening he in¬ 
cluded himself in his general dissatisfaction. Why 
he felt that way he could not explain. For one 
thing, his conceit had been punctured. Although 

65 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

he had never mentioned the matter, he nevertheless 
believed he had done something pretty fine in taking 
care of Midge Mm'ray as well as he had, and that 
he deserved a good deal of credit therefor. It had 
given him a comfortable feeling of superiority, a 
pleasant sense of martyrdom. To learn that these 
^^soft guys’’ to whom he was superior were doing the 
same thing as he and doing it better—^yes, and with¬ 
out boasting—^was a disagreeable surprise. Then, 
too, his sight of Kitty Costello had awakened 
poignant yearnings and had stimulated him to round 
out thoughts that had lain half formed in his mind 
until now. He was a clean-living, smooth-running 
piece of work and a girl could do a lot worse— 
Kitty was perhaps the one girl in the world who 
could completely change his mode of living, for 
whom it would be worth while to run straight; but 
he had noted an astonishing thing about her at 
the service. She, too, had glowed with that subdued 
radiance that had enveloped Midge. Saints in 
church windows were garbed in that same fire, and 
the phenomenon had invested her with a kind of 
holiness. Since she was not ordinary human flesh 
and blood, it was useless to dwell upon foolish 
fancies. But it left the young man restless, empty, 
dissatisfied. In spite of his moping and sighing, 
he arrived nowhere except at a firm decision never 
to reform. Kitty was out of reach, anyhow, so what 
66 


BIG BROTHER 


was the use? As for Midge, he^d do the best he 
could for the lad and meanwhile have a good time. 
It was some satisfaction to be a tough bird. 

He returned home one afternoon, much earlier 
than usual, and was surprised to discover from the 
sound of voices in his room that Midge had a caller. 
Instinctive caution prompted him to learn who the 
latter might be, so he approached the door on tiptoe 
and listened. A moment, then he frowned in per¬ 
plexity, for it was Cokey Joe Miller speaking. What 
dire necessity had brought him here? Jim bent his 
head again, and this time what he heard caused him 
to reach for his hip pocket He could scarcely be^ 
lieve his ears, but—if they were not playing him 
tricks it was lucky he had come when he did. Miller 
was trying to induce Midge to take dope I Jim lis¬ 
tened, stupefied. He had to get all of this; it would 
not do to make a mistake. 

Either the fellow was crazed with his own drugs 
or this was his way of getting revenge; at any rate, 
he was telling Midge about the glories of Coney 
Island and the boy was ablaze with excitement. 

“Me, I go every day, an’ it don’t cost me a cent,” 
the man was saying. “All I do is sniff dis here pow¬ 
der an’ I see de hull woiks, hear de music an’ ever’- 
t’ing. G’wan, kid, try it!” 

The door flew open. Miller leaped to his feet, 
startled. 


67 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

“Hello, Jim! I just-’’ The words died in his 

throat as he met Donovan’s flaming eyes. “I— 
You— No need of us bein’ sore, Jim. I-” 

“Did he sniff dat stuff?” Donovan jerked his 
head in Midge’s direction. “Come clean! I been 
listenin’. Did he?” 

Cokey Joe uttered a bleat of terror and recoiled 
violently, for Jim had drawn his gun. “Look out!” 
the caller cried, sharply. “Nix, Jim! I didn’t mean 
nuttin’. Y-ye wouldn’t croak a pal-?” 

“You —ratr Jim was shaking uncontrollably; 
he was ill, nauseated. A hunter who treads upon a 
rattlesnake feels the same sensation—one of mingled 
fright and repulsion that frequently turns him sick 
at his stomach. In the back of Donovan’s mind, 
however, ran the last words of Big Ben Murray: 
“If any one tries to loin ’im anyt’ing rotten—moider 
’em.” He had never killed a man; he had always 
refused to think of doing so; now, however, he 
raised his revolver. 

Midge pushed it aside, crying: “Hey, Jimmy! 
Can dat movie stuff. Dem t’ings goes off an’ hoits 
people.” The boy was trying to appear brave and 
to treat the situation lightly, but his eyes were big 
with fright and his little hands were cold. 

Jim stared down at him for an instant, and sight 
of the child’s strained white face restored some sort 
of sanity to him. He couldn’t kill Miller here, right 
68 





BIG BROTHER 


before this kid’s eyes. He stood frozen, then he 
lowered the weapon. only foolin’,” he said, 

harshly. “Just t’rowin’ a scare-” He swallowed 

twice, then addressed the cowering wretch. “Come 
along, hop-head. Let’s take a walk.” 

But Miller’s terror rendered him epileptic. His 
lips hung loose and wet, his eyes rolled, his arms 
moved jerkily. He babbled an incoherent plea for 
mercy. He had meant no harm; ... he had come 
to see Jim and make up; ... he and Midge were 
good pals and as God was his judge he wouldn’t hurt 
a kid. . , . Midge wouldn’t let Jimmy hurt him 
either. Would he? The creature came forward on 
wabbling legs and pawed at the child. 

“Leggo dat kid! Don’t touch ’im.” Jim flung 
the fellow aside and cursed him furiously. It was 
the first time he had ever used profanity before 
Midge and the latter listened terrified, thunder¬ 
struck. When Jim tried to drag Miller out of the 
room. Midge clung to him and began to cry. 

“All right. De kid wins.” Jim released his hold. 
“Beat it! But I’ll get you. Dere ain’t a hole in 
dis town you can hide in, you know dat. Take it on 
de loop now, quick, an’ keep fulla snow; ’cause you’ll 
need it. Your number’s out, Joe.” 

Still chattering his apologies, the drug addict 
slimk out of the room and half fell down the stairs. 
It was hard to let him go, for Jim was unaccus- 
69 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


tomed to self-restraint. And there was his oath to 
Big Ben! 

When the door had closed, Donovan whirled upon 
the boy, crying savagely, ^‘Takin’ dope, hey? AinT 
I told you to be good? I’ll learn ye to do a rotten 
t’ing like dat.” He raised his hand and cuffed Midge 
across the room. The little fellow fetched up against 
the bed, clung to it dizzily for a moment, then 
clambered upon it and sat down. His eyes slowly 
filmed over with tears, his lower hp began to quiver. 

Briefly the two regarded each other, the boy 
hurt, bewildered, reproachful; the man beside him¬ 
self with horror at what had just passed. For a 
moment they stared at each other, then Donovan 
uttered a sharp cry. 

^^Oh, kid! I’m—sorry. I’m off me nut, honest! 
You ain’t done nuttin’. Here”—^he stepped forward 
and knelt before Midge—‘^hit me back. I hadn’t 
oughta struck ye. G’wan! Hit me.” He thrust 
his face forward and Midge could feel the bed shake 
from the clutch of his trembling hands. 

“I don’t wanta hit ya,” the lad quavered. 

“Sure ye do! Gimme a wallopin’, like a good boy. 
Hit me anywhere, much as ye please. It’s cornin’ 
to me. I was crazy, Midge—^him tryin’ a t’ing like 
dat an’—an’—I dunno what ailed me.” 

“I been licked lots o’ times. I don’t mind it.” 

Jim closed his eyes; his face was suddenly con- 
70 


BIG BROTHER 


vulsed. “I was rotten. GVan, hand it to me bard. 
I want ye to. It’s fifty-fifty wit’ us. Please ^ kid I” 
In his present agony of remorse Donovan longed 
fiercely to feel Midge’s fists upon his flesh, but in¬ 
stead he felt the boy’s arms encircle his neck, felt the 
little fellow’s lips pressed to his. With an aching 
cry Jimmy crushed the tiny figure to him, held it 
close. It seemed as if his heart would break from 
the pain, the melting, exquisite anguish within him. 

‘T couldn’t hit you, Jimmy,” Midge was murmur¬ 
ing. ^‘Geel I like ya too much.” 
ye ? Honest ? ’ ’ 

^‘Sure. An’ you needn’t be scared I’ll do anyt’ing 
rotten. I’m gonna be just like you.” 

God! I am scared.” 

“You was mad, too, wasn’t ya, Jimmy? I’ll tell 
the woild you was.” Midge was delighted that con¬ 
cern for his own safety had inspired such violence of 
passion. “You’d ’a’ croaked him, wouldn’t ya, 
Jim?” 

“I’d ’a’ gone to de chair, dat’s all. Dat’s awful 
stuff he give ye.” 

“Hully Gee! Be cops would ’a’ got ya an’ I’d ’a’ 
been left flat. Dat would ’a’ been fierce, wouldn’t 
it?” 

Jim clutched the boy close again. “You an’ me 
is brothers, eh. Midge?” 

“Sure, we’re Iwrudders.” 

71 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘^We^re gonna alius be brothers—alius like dis, 
eh? Ain^t nuttin^ ever goin’ to split us apart, ever. 
Promise not to let nuttin’ or nobody in dis hull woild 
split us apart.’’ 

‘‘Not a chance! GeeV^ 

“An’—an’ ye better not say I kissed ye, Midge. 
You knowl” 

“All right. I useta kiss Ben once in a w’ile, an’ 
it made him sore, too.” 

“Oh, it don’t make me sore. I like it. But— 
Say! Let’s us go down to Coney, soon as it opens. 
Just you an’ me. We’ll see de hull t’ing, an’ ride 
de camels, an’ eat dogs. An’ we won’t go Cokey Joe’s 
route, neither. Yeah, an’ to-night we’ll get a big 
feed at de Greek’s an’ go see a pitcher —two of ’em. 
You an’ me have got to knock around together after 
dis; New York’s a rotten town fer a kid unless he’s 
got a big brother.” 

Kitty Costello was surprised when, one Saturday 
afternoon, she entered Father Marron’s study and 
found Jimmy Donovan waiting there. 

“Oh! Excuse me,” she exclaimed in some con¬ 
fusion. 

“Don’t duck,” the gangster implored as she 
started to back out. “I’m in a panic an’ I’d ’a’ beat 
it meself in another minute.” 

Something in the speaker’s voice drew Kitty’s 
72 


BIG BROTHER 


averted eyes to his face; a searching look, then she 
forgot herself entirely. 

“Why—you’re in trouble! What is it?” Plainly 
something was amiss with Jim, for he was gray and 
haggard and there was a strained, hunted look in his 
face. “You haven’t—done something? They’re not 
after you?” Kitty spoke breathlessly; one of her 
hands fluttered to her throat. 

The man nodded. “I’m in trouble, awright! An' 
somet’ing’s after me—I dunno what. Yeah! An’ 
it’s got me. Gee! I ain’t slep’ a wink for free 
nights. Been walkin’ de streets. I gotta spill it to 
somebody an’ I dunno’s Father Dan would under¬ 
stand as good as you. It’s about Midge. You can 
talk to me here. Nobody ’ll see you.” 

“What is it?” 

“It’s jus’ dis. I-” Jim wet his lips, he twisted 

his cap—wrung it between his hands. “I’m gonna 
run straight.” 

“You’re^— whatV’ 

“I gotta do it,” he declared, in a cracked voice. 
“It’s me only out. I’ve figgered it all ways, but 
I’m boxed in. Listen! Dat guy Miller tried to lay 
de kid ag’in’ de coke; tried to get him sniffin’. Fact! 
I caught ’im at it—an’ a miracle it was. I was for 
smokin’ him right dere. God! It boined me up— 
teachin’ a kid to do a f ing like dat. But you can’t 
kill a guy in front of a boy any more ’n you could 
73 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

kill ’im in choich. I had to let ’im walk out. But 
dat’s only one t’ing. Every day it’s somet’ing; every 
way I toin I see somebody willin’ to loin ’im some¬ 
t’ing rotten. I been worried for weeks an’ me nut’s 
sore, I used it so much. Midge finks I give orders 
to Hylan, an’ built de Brooklyn Bridge, an’ wrote 
de Bible, an’—well, I’m aces wit’ ’im, see? He’s got 
an idea de Car Barn gang is somet’ing like de Board 
o’ Aldermen, only more class. 

^^You can’t fool a kid like him for long; he’s 
gonna get me number sure. An’ den what? I’ll tell 
ye what; he’s gonna say anyt’ing Jimmy Donovan 
does is good enough for him. Get me? I can’t 
make a square guy outa him unless I’m square me- 
self. You know kids. He’ll fink it’s great to be a 
ten-minute egg like me. Sure he will. I was a kid 
like him, meself, but I had a knack. Ain’t one guy 
in a t’ousan’ can beat de game like I done, an’ if ye 
can’t beat it ye better be sorry you’re born.” 

Jim paused to catch his breath, then gloomily he 
continued: gotta toin over de well-known leaf. 

I been fightin’ it, but I’m lickeck If I’m straight, I 
can beat hell outa him de foist trick he toins, but if 
I’m crooked- Get me?” 

^T’m—glad,” quavered Kitty Costello. 

^‘Understand, I’m rotten as ever, inside. When I 
seen meself slippin’ I went wild. I ribbed up de 
gang to—to somet’ing fierce. Dat was two days ago. 

74 



BIG BROTHER 


Gee! we took a chance! But I knew I was gone. 
You got it now: IVe fell for de straight an^ narrow— 
an’ it makes — me — sick! Kind of a come-down for 
a man my size, ain’t it?” 

^^No! No! It’s splendid!” the girl said, ear¬ 
nestly. ^Tather Dan will be so happy.” 

^^Honest?” 

^‘Indeed he will, and so will—everybody. You’ll 
get a job, of course.” 

^^Oh, sure!” The tone was one of mingled disgust 
and resignation. “Dat’s de foist t’ing a sucker does. 
I ain’t made up me mind what it ’ll be, but a boid 
smart enough to get by wit’out woikin’ had ought to 
start a panic in ’most any business he picks out.” 
He smiled whimsically. ^‘Mebbe I’ll join de priest 
force an’ get to be a bishop so’s I can promote Father 
Marron to pope. Who knows? You talk to ’im, 
will ye? Please! Me head’s tired an’ I’m talked 
out. He says it takes a tough guy to run straight; 
ask ’im if he finks I’m tough enough.” 

Kdtty was only too glad to be the bearer of such 
tidings, and when Father Dan had heard her he 
joined in her rejoicing. 

^^This is a happy day for me,” he confessed. “A 
boy’s hands have built an altar in that man’s heart 
where ours would have failed. I’m not much of a 
preacher and I know less about business, but I’m 
75 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

going to find Donovan a job if it^s the last thing 
I do/^ 

“The job is found/^ Kitty asserted, with shining 
eyes, “if you’ll only go down to the plant with me on 
Monday morning.” 

Jimmy Donovan never knew to whom he owed 
his first position. He attributed his prompt accept¬ 
ance as an employee of the McConnigle shops to an 
appreciation of himself as a man. Nor, if the truth 
be known, did Father Marron have much to do with 
it except to vouch for the integrity of Jim’s deter¬ 
mination; the rest was due to Kitty, who stood quite 
as well with her firm as with her neighbors. 

Jim’s first few weeks of honest toil were trying 
enough to his pride, for he felt degraded, conspicu¬ 
ous. He had come down in the social scale and he 
was sure the entire upper East Side, underneath its 
calm, was seething with excitement over it. When 
signs of that agitation failed to manifest themselves, 
he was genuinely relieved. As for the Car Bam 
gang, they took it better than he expected and senti¬ 
ment was about evenly divided as to the wisdom of 
his course. Big Ben had been well beloved and the 
gang as a whole vaguely felt that it had inherited a 
certain responsibility for Midge. Some few of the 
boys, to be sure, were rather contemptuous of Jim’s 
attitude, but they were fellows who had no little 
76 


BIG BROTHER 


brothers of their own and Spike Doyle pretty well 
put the concensus of opinion when he said: 

'Tt ain^t like it would be if Jim had fell for Billy 
Sunday an^ was horrified at his evil ways, or like he^d 
gone to stoolin’ fer de cops. He’s a hunnerd per 
cent right, he is, an’ you could split ’im wit’ a wedge 
before he’d toin up a pal or squawk at an enemy. 
You heard what he promised Big Ben? Well, he’s 
a gangster an’ he’s got de guts to go t’rough fer a 
buddy. Yeah! An’it takes a lighter-load o’insides 
to do dat. A soft-livin’ lad like him dat ’ll go to 
woik in a foundry is a hero an’ he’d oughta be 
starred in moompitchers.” 

This was a friendly attitude indeed and it saved 
Jim’s self-respect—what was left of it. It would 
have hurt him terribly had the gang turned against 
him. As time passed he grew easier in mind and 
began to take an interest in his job. He possessed a 
mechanical bent, anyhow; hence there was a fascina¬ 
tion about the work in the shop and it was not long 
until he decided to acquire enough proficiency so as 
to take charge of a lathe. The intricacies of those 
machines, their precision, appealed to him, and they 
cut hard stuff. That was his speed, his game. Hard 
stuff. Meanwhile, he saw a good deal of Kitty 
Costello and, in consequence, half-formed visions of 
a future presented themselves. 

Kitty’s bearing toward him had changed subtly, 

77 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


agreeably, and when the old, restless, reckless crav¬ 
ing for excitement stirred, it was those inchoate 
visions that quelled them. 

It is nice to believe that virtue has its own imme¬ 
diate reward and that fortune invariably smiles upon 
the convert, but, alas! it isnT so. Fortune is fickle 
and she has an impartial way of distributing her 
favors and her frowns between the righteous and the 
imrighteous alike. Jim suffered the usual fate of 
him who tries to reform: just when he had convinced 
himself that the world was his friend and held out 
to him a helping hand, it turned and kicked him. 
It was a wicked, uncalled-for kick and it completely 
destroyed his budding faith in the brotherhood of 
man. 

Mr. Lowman Duryea, on behalf of the Social 
Uplift League, appealed to the authorities to remove 
Midge Murray from Jim’s demoralizing influence 
and both Donovan and his charge were summoned 
to appear before the Juvenile Court. 

Midge, of course, had no idea what this meant, 
hence it gave him a certain feeling of importance. 
Jim, on the other hand, was frankly apprehensive. 
When he told the Car Barn gang about it, they were 
deeply indignant and volunteered in a body to come 
to the rescue. They offered to take the stand and 
solemnly swear that Jim was not a demoralizing 
influence, but that he was, on the contrary, a moral 
78 


BIG BROTHER 


force of the first magnitude—a gentleman of the 
highest integrity and a monument of virtue; that his 
example was an inspiration to the right-minded 
youth of the East Side and that his private Bible 
readings had practically rid the whole neighborhood 
of crime. 

‘^Nix! A boost from youse guys would gimme 
life,” he declared. ‘Why, if dis bunch swarmed into 
court, de judge would ring fer de resoives an’ de 
bailiffs would have screamin’ hysterics. A lotta 
women an’ children would be trampled, too.” 

“We can swear you’re woikin’, Jimmy. You got • 
your dinner pail to show dat, an’ a dinner pail’s a 
good influence.” 

“How about us settin’ in de front row an’ lookin’ 
doity at de judge?” It was the resourceful Mr. 
Doyle speaking. “Talk about hysterics! We can 
t’row a chill into him so deep he’ll be scared to give 
you anyt’ing woise’n a handclasp. Or mebbe a good 
stiff Black Hand letter would help?” 

“Sure! An’ w’ats de matter of us layin’ away dis 
psalm-shouter, Duryea? We can fit ’im to a hospital 
cot, easy; dem Park Avenue harp players has got 
thin skulls. Why, dere’s a t’ousan’ ways to beat dis, 
Jim!” 

Their ex-leader shook his head in bleak despond¬ 
ency. “I give ye credit for meanin’ well, but ye 
gotta lay off, cold. Father Marron’s wit’ me an’ so’s 
79 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

Kitty Costello, an’ if a boost from dem won’t put 
me over, I’m sunk. Of course, dere’s Midge, too. 
All de judge has gotta do is take a slant at de kid. 
He can see how well I’ve took care o’ him. All de 
same, I trust a court about as far as I can t’row an 
anvil wit’ me left hand. I’m scared—losin’ me 
noive, I guess. Only one t’ing”—he looked up into 
the serious, sympathetic faces of his friends—‘‘dere 
ain’t nobody can split me away from dat kid. No¬ 
body’s gonna send him away to no Home where 
dey’ll beat him wit’ a strap an’ feed him a lotta slop 
to put his stummick on de bum. Dem Homes is 
fulla crooked kids, an’ Midge is kinda tough, any¬ 
how. He’s gotta have good bringin’-up. I’ll shoot 
me way outa dat Children’s Court, wit’ him under 
me arm, before I’ll stand for a t’ing like dat.” 

The time was when Donovan had prided himself 
upon his ability to beat any charge against him; but 
when he appeared at the Juvenile Court it was with 
deeper misgivings than he had ever experienced, not 
excepting his first visit to General Sessions. 

The proceedings were more informal than he was 
accustomed to. The judge was a youngish man with 
a pleasant face and a kindly manner toward children, 
but the brisk, decisive way in which he dealt with 
adult witnesses convinced Jim that he was in for a 
bad quarter of an hour when his time came. 

Mr. Duryea presented his, or rather his League’s, 
8o 


BIG BROTHER 


case briefly. There was not much to it, and yet 
enough. Here was an orphan child whose brother, a 
man of evil living, had been shot to death in a brawl 
and who had fallen into the hands of the most noto¬ 
rious gangster of the whole East Side. The boy was 
utterly dependent, he was being reared amid low 
surroundings and criminal associates. Mr. Duryea 
had appealed to the parish priest, hoping that some 
Catholic welfare organization would handle the case, 
but nothing had been done. The man Donovan was 
here; the court could decide if he were a person of 
proper character to keep the child. In case there 
was any doubt, Mr. Duryea had provided other wit¬ 
nesses, former associates—fellow gangsters, in fact. 

Jim started; he ran his eyes over the courtroom. 
Miller again, eh? And Monk Manelli. He won¬ 
dered if they had framed this or if they were merely 
willing tools in the hands of this meddler. Re¬ 
vengeful he knew them to be, but he could credit 
neither with sufficient nerve to take the stand 
against him. That would involve laying up more 
trouble than they could possibly crave. 

The court, it seemed, knew a good deal about 
Donovan, and agreed with Mr. Duryea’s measure 
of him, nevertheless he examined Jim. 

The latter made the best case he could for him¬ 
self, and Father Dan and Kitty bore out his account 

8i 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of the care he had given Midge. All three of them 
stressed the fact that he had gone to work. 

“Your honor/’ Mr. Duryea claimed the court’s 
attention, “it appears to be the contention of the 
defendant and his two witnesses that the mere fact 
that he has recently gone to work completely white¬ 
washes his character. They appear to believe that a 
loafer who takes a job is a hero. He admits that he 
is in daily—rather, nightly—contact with his gang, 
and there is no tougher crowd in the city than the 
Car Barn boys.” 

The judge nodded. “I know. But Father Marron 
and Miss Costello say the boy has improved sur¬ 
prisingly since Donovan took him. He’s well, he’s 
up in his studies, he goes to Sunday school and sings 
in the choir. He doesn’t look abused. What do you 
say to that?” 

“Nothing. Donovan’s a healthy-looking speci¬ 
men, himself. I can only call your honor’s atten¬ 
tion to the boy’s home surroundings. The more 
thoroughly Donovan educates him, the more care¬ 
fully he coaches him, the more dangerous will be the 
type of criminal he turns out. In all my experi¬ 
ence with social-welfare work I have never encoun¬ 
tered a case which so urgently demanded the law’s 
instant intervention.” 

“Let me talk to the boy himself.” A uniformed 
court officer led Midge up to the bench where the 
82 


BIG BROTHER 


judge could speak with him. ^‘Midge,” the latter 
began, ‘^do you know what place this is?” The boy 
nodded. He was badly frightened; his heart was 
pounding terribly and his voice had deserted him. 
^‘Do you know what this hearing is about? Come! 
Can’t you speak out loud?” Again Midge tried and 
failed. He turned his eyes to Jimmy, and Donovan 
felt something swell in his throat. The kid was 
scared. They were torturing him. Damn such 
people, trying to terrify a child! 

“How old are you, my boy?” 

“Seven, goin’ on eight,” came the reedy response. 

“Father Dan says you’re a good singer, and a 
good boy, too. Be a good boy now and answer my 
questions truthfully. Promise?” 

“S-sure.” 

“Do you know the difference between the truth 
and a lie?” 

“Coit’ny.” 

“How do you like Donovan, the man you live 
with?” 

“I like him fine. Him an’ me is brudders.” 

“What makes you like him?” 

<<Why—I jus’ tol’ ya. He’s me brudder.” 

“Do you obey him?” 

“I’ll say I do. He’d knock me fer a goal if I 
didn’t.” 


83 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“So? Does he punish you? Come, answer me. 
Does he—beat you?” 

“N-not much.” 

“What did he whip you for, the last time?” 

“Takin’ dope.” 

^^What?^* Midgets answer had created a sensa¬ 
tion; even Mr. Duryea sat forward in his chair. 

“Sure! A doity bum gimme some white stuff 
an’-” 

“Who was he? A friend of Donovan’s?” 

Midge grinned and cast another glance at the 
petrified Jimmy. “Naw! He ain’t no friend. Hully 
Gee! Ya should a heard ’em! Jim pulled a gun on 
’im—dat long! An’ he’d a croaked ’im right dere 
on’y fer goin’ to de ’lectric chair. But he’ll get ’im 
yet; he said he would, so dat’s in an’ over. Nobody 
ever gets away wit’ nuttin’ like dat. He’s a ten- 
minute egg, Jim is.” 

“Um-m! Jim is a pretty bad man, isn’t he?” 
Midge began to get the drift of things now; they 
were pumping him, trying to put something over on 
Jim, so he began energetically to boost for his pal. 
“I see.” The judge nodded, after a while. “He’s 
your hero and you’re going to be just like him when 
you grow up. Is that it?” 

That was it, precisely. Midge became loquacious. 
He gave his inquisitor to understand that Jim was a 
tough customer and brooked no interference with his 

84 



BIG BROTHER 


personal affairs, not even from meddlers like—like 
Duryea. He made bold to turn up his nose at the 
agent of the Social Uplift League. Why, even the 
cops were afraid of Jim and he had a gang back of 
him that would as soon kill you as not—maybe 
sooner. Not that Jim needed any help; he could 
look out for himself, all right, Jim could, and he 
packed a gun in every pocket. He could lick any 
two pohcemen in New York and often did it, and 
handcuffs fell off his hands of their own weight, and 
it didn’t bother him a bit to go to jail because he 
could walk right out the minute he wanted to, and— 
Midge paused, out of breath. All he had to say was 
that Jimmy Donovan was one right guy and he was 
proud to be his- pal. It wouldn’t pay anybody to 
try and send him up the river. 

‘Wou have the wrong idea, my boy,” the court 
told him finally; then as succinctly as possible he 
explained the real significance of these proceedings. 
When it finally dawned upon Midge that it was he 
and not Jim who was in danger of being sent away, 
when he realized that this smiling, h5^pocritical 
stranger in the black kimono intended to separate 
him from his beloved brother, he flew into a rage. 
He had been deceived, betrayed in the dirtiest pos¬ 
sible manner, so he cursed the judge. 

Donovan clutched the railing in front of him and 
85 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

moaned faintly as oath after oath tumbled from 
Midge’s lips. 

“Take that boy away!” the court directed. 

This move savored of kidnapping. Midge 
imagined he was being hustled straight to Sing Sing, 
so he yelled for Jimmy and fought the officer. He 
dodged, he squirmed, he struck and he bit at his 
captor; he was borne, kicking, scratching, squalling, 
to his seat, where he scrambled swiftly into Dono¬ 
van’s arms and clung there with the strength of a 
baby chimpanzee. 

“Don’t let ’em!” he sobbed. “Oh, Jimmy, don’t 
let ’em! Don’t let ’em!’' 

The court was saying something about a shocking 
example of something or other . . . need of re¬ 
straint . . . firm hand of authority. . . . Above 
Midge’s claunor, Jim heard the words “Roosevelt 
Home.” 

God! His kid was being sent away, committed 
as casually, as coldly, as if he were a thief or a 
pickpocket, instead of a clean-living, heart-hungry 
little boy who had never done a wrong. And this 
was justice! 

Father Marron was asking that the boy be pya- 
roled in care of the Catholic Big Brothers and prom¬ 
ising to secure for him a guardian approved by the 
organization, but the judge’s feelings had been ruf- 
86 


BIG BROTHER 

fled and he still suffered from shock at Midge’s 
depravity. 

‘T appreciate your personal interest, Father, but 
this boy is—vicious. He needs a firm, corrective 
influence.” 

Jimmy rose, with the trembling boy in his arms, 
and addressed the court. 

“Your Honor, please sir! It—it ain’t right. He 
never coised like dat in his hull life—he was just 
scared. Why, I can feel his heart jumpin’ out of his 
breast, dis minute. He’s a good little boy an’ he 
wouldn’t harm a fly. I been a tough boid, but he 
give ye de wrong dope on me. Honest he did. I 
got a steady job an’ I’ll cut out all de old stuff—you 
know—if you’ll let me keep ’im. Y’see I—I cook 
his grub for ’im, his stummick is dat weak, an’—■ 
dey couldn’t do dat. Can’t ye lemme keep ’im?” 

No one could have doubted the speaker’s poignant 
distress, for his voice was husky and uncertain, his 
face was white. Not unkindly the judge told him: 

“I appreciate your affection for the boy, Donovan, 
and I must confess I’m somewhat surprised at it, 
coming from you. If you were an ordinary fellow, 
I’d be inclined to listen to you, but—you’re a noto¬ 
rious character, I can’t put much faith in your pro¬ 
fessed reform, especially inasmuch as you haven’t 
even tried to cut loose from your old associates, so 
I’ll have to commit the boy. He’ll get better atten- 
87 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


tion than you can give him, and if you really care 
for him you should be glad that he’s going to have a 
chance to amount to something.” 

A short while later, in one of the anterooms, they 
took Midge away from Jimmy—tore him from the 
gangster’s arms—and the sight of that parting nearly 
broke Kitty Costello’s tender heart. 

With the boy’s last anguished cry in his ears, with 
his last salt kiss upon his lips, Jimmy Donovan 
turned furiously upon Father Dan, crying: ‘^Dere 
ye got it—de hull dam’ system! Dat’s justice!” 
He brushed the tears from his eyes and went on, 
harshly: ^^To hell wit’ it, an’ to hell wit’ everyt’ing! 
I’m hard-boiled, I am. Me an’ me gang is rowdies. 
Oh, sure! We’re doity rats an’ we ain’t fit to have 
brothers, but d’ye t’ink any gangster in New York 
would do a t’ing like dis? Tear de heart out of a 
little kid? Rip de guts out of a guy dat’s tryin’ his 

best-? But de ‘good’ people do it. Say, if it 

wasn’t fer dem, dere wouldn’t be no toughs. 
^Good’! I hope dey rot! I ho{>e dey boin a million 
years in hell!” 

“You had a bad break,” Father Dan agreed, 
quietly, “and I believe the boy would have been 
better off in your hands than-” 

“It alius breaks bad fer me, but—it solves me 
right, tryin’ to be what I ain’t. Me splittin away 
from de gang, an’ woikin’ me head off, an’ hearin’ de 
88 




BIG BROTHER 


kid’s prayers—! I ain’t ‘good' enough to hear a 
kid’s prayers or cook his grub or keep ’im clean. 
I’m too vicious I All right. I’ve had me convincer: 
I’m t’rough!” 

“You mean you’re going back?” 

“Am I? Watch me.” 

Kitty Costello closed her eyes in sudden pain. 
She could understand the man’s revolt, his despera¬ 
tion, and she could sympathize. But of late, when 
she was all alone, she had painted a picture, built a 
castle, and now it was being torn in two, tumbled 
down. She heard Jim running on, still in that tone 
of fury: 

“I been a bad boy, all right, but I been playin’ at 
it, just to amuse meself an’ get even wit’ de cops. I 
got a nut on me shoulders, I have; I got de makin’s 
in me, an’ I’ll show ’em how bad a guy can be when 
he woiks at it. Take de heart out of a man’s breast, 
eh? Thumb his eyes out when he’s down? I’ll do 
a little o’ dat stuff, meself, fer dis town’s on its back 
to me, an’ its hands is tied. Watch me gouge an’ 
hear de ^good’ guys holler. I can beat all de courts 
an’ all de coppers in it, standin’ on me head. I’ll 
make ’em oin deir pay.” 

“You don’t mean that, Jim,” the priest declared. 

“No, I don’t! I talk like I’m kiddin’, don’t I?” 

“ The devil works fast when he knows his time is 
short,’ ” Father Marron quoted. 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘^Same here.” 

‘T told you it took a tough guy to run straight. 
This is where the yellow streak shows.” 

“Yeller! YeUerT Donovan laughed hoarsely. 
‘T fell fer dat chatter once an^—look at me!” 

“You want Midge back, donT you?” 

^^Want ’im? O my God!” The speaker abruptly 
turned his back. 

“You can have him. There’s no trouble about 
that.” 

The gangster’s working features came into view 
again. “Whaddye mean?” 

“Earn him! He hasn’t been sent away to do a 
stretch; he isn’t even a delinquent—merely a de¬ 
pendent. You know you’re good enough to take care 
of him. Make us know it. Show the court.” 

“Me? Show him? If I showed ’im Brooklyn 
Bridge he wouldn’t believe it.” 

“You’re Midge’s brother in love, his brother in 
spirit; you can become his—his Big Brother if you 
have the guts.” 

Jim clutched at the familiar words. “Honest? 
Would dey gimme a chance? Nobody would take 
’im away?” 

“I think I can promise it. You’d die for that boy, 
I do believe. Why is it so much harder for you to 
live for him?” 

Donovan choked now; the tears were very close. 

90 


BIG BROTHER 


He sank upon a bench and bowed his head in his 
hands, dunno^s I can do it?” he mumbled. 

Kitty spoke for the first time, and it was with the 
soothing faith of a mother. know you can do it.” 
She sat down beside Jim and laid her arm across his 
bent shoulders. Father Dan walked away. ^‘Midge 
is a dear and they’ll take good care of him.” 

‘T’m scared dey ’ll lick ’im.” 

‘‘Nonsense! He’ll own the place in a month and 
they’ll love him.’^ 

“I don’t want nobody to love ’im or him to love 
nobody but me,” came the muffled words. “He’ll 
forget me.” 

“Not Midge. You can see him every visitor’s day. 
You’ve got something to live for now, Jim.” 

It was some time before Donovan raised his head; 
then he looked squarely into Kitty’s eyes. It was 
the first time he had ever met her gaze for more than 
an instant. There was a faint smile upon his lips 
when he said: 

“T’ank ye for bein’ so nice to a poor bum. It 
didn’t break so bad for me to-day, after all. I had 
an hour o’ hell but I—I had a few minutes o^ 
heaven, too, an’ dat’s pretty gdod for de likes o’ 
me. I’m goin’ t’rough, all right.” 

“I knew you would,” said Kitty. 

Good intentions, like bright metals, soon tarnish. 
Exaltation of the soul is comforting while it lasts, but 

91 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


mortal desire is in constant conflict with spiritual 
determination and only the single-track mind of a 
fanatic can long sustain itself upon an idea, an 
inspiration. 

Jimmy Donovan came away from court afire with 
a great purpose, but the flame flickered and all but 
went out when he entered his empty room, for every¬ 
where he looked he saw something that reminded 
him of Midge; in every corner the boy’s wistful face 
appeared. His little nightgown, a pair of shoes run 
over at the heels and stubbed out at the toes, his 
slate and pencil and dog-eared lesson books all gave 
the man a painful thrust and emphasized his loneli¬ 
ness. Jim realized now for the first time how empty 
his life had been before the boy came, and how full 
thereafter. The thought of living here alone once 
more, without something to love and to protect, 
filled him with dismay. That splendid conception 
of his began to lose form and vividness; he doubted 
his ability to carry on. 

Yes, and Midge was having a blacker hour than 
he, for the boy was frightened. He was calling for 
his big brother. Jim could not bear to let his mind 
run far along this line, so he locked the place and 
fled into the streets. Evening came and from force 
of habit he turned toward the nearest restaurant, 
but checked himself. Midge wouldn’t be eating any 
supper, so—they’d fast together. They’d be putting 
92 


BIG BROTHER 


him to bed before long, in some cell full of rats and 
roaches—Jim’s idea of a Juvenile Home were vague 
—and they probably had his hair cropped by now 
and a suit of stripes on him. If he rebelled (and 
Midge had a temper) they’d put him in a dungeon 
on bread and water. Suppose he got sick? What 
if he grieved himself to death? Jim fetched himself 
up with an oath. He would have to cut out these 
thoughts for he was getting as jumpy as Cokey Joe. 

That night he split definitely and completely with 
the gang, explaining that he had been put on proba¬ 
tion and that Midge was doing a stretch on his 
account. The length of that stretch would depend 
upon how closely he watched his step and he pro¬ 
posed to take no chances. The boys could call him 
yellow if they wanted to. He probably was yellow, 
but he was in no mood to have that epithet applied 
to him by others. 

When the first visitor’s day came around, Dono¬ 
van quit at noon and went out to the Roosevelt 
Home. It was just beyond the city line and the 
country round about was clean and green and beau¬ 
tiful in the fresh verdure of spring, but he had no 
eyes for it. He was agreeably surprised at the ap¬ 
pearance of the Home, for it was not at all what he 
had pictured; it was nothing like a Bridewell. 
There were no frowning walls, no clanging gates of 
steel. It was a sort of farm with scattered build- 
93 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


ings set amid high trees and closely clipped lawns; 
there were flower and vegetable gardens and sunny 
playgrounds. A crowd of older boys were playing 
baseball and, judged by the racket they made, they 
were having a good time. Queer! Nor were there 
any armed guards in sight, and except for a chain- 
link fence of moderate height that appeared to sur¬ 
round the grounds, there was nothing to prevent 
escape. Windows were not barred, gates stood open, 
vehicles and pedestrians came and went. It would 
be a cinch to spring Midge from this place. 

Jim^s first sight of his ward was a shock, never¬ 
theless, for the boy was clad in the same denim suit 
that he had seen on the other boys and that enraged 
the caller. Outside of that, however, he was im- 
changed and his greeting of Jim was such as to 
warm the ex-gangster^s heart. When the latter had 
produced, one by one, the presents that bulged his 
pockets, they put in the early afternoon wandering 
about the farm, hand in hand, and talking like mag¬ 
pies to make up for lost time. Midge showed off his 
brother to the other boys, and then showed off the 
gardens to his brother. It was all strange and for¬ 
eign to both of them and the boy explained repeat¬ 
edly that things good to eat came right up out of the 
ground, such things as mickeys and onions and to¬ 
matoes—stuff he had supp)osed came in crates. AU 
you had to do was stick them in little holes and cover 
94 



BIG BROTHER 


them up with dirt and in a few days you had 
^^himnerds.” It was different with butter and eggs. 
You didn’t plant eggs. Practically everything on the 
place was good to eat, and those trees—Midge 
pointed up to the oaks and the maples—gave apples 
and oranges and peanuts and things, just like in a 
book. There were many interesting features about 
this Home but, even so, he confessed that he was 
desperately homesick and still not a little bit 
frightened. 

‘^Gee! I was awful scared de foist night,” he told 
Jim. ’most died, I did. Ya couldn’t hear a t’ing, 
Jim, an’—an’ eyes was lookin’ at ya. Somma de 
boys said dey was bears an’ lions all over de woods 
an’ I cried till mornin’. I tried to get sick so dey’d 
send me back home. I didn’t eat nuttin’, an’ I 
prayed fer measles an’ yellah fever, but nuttin’ 
happened. Bime by I got so hungry I couldn’t 
stand it. It ain’t so woise now.” 

‘^Atta boy! You stick, kid. I’m cornin’ to get 
ye some day. Me an’ Father Dan has got it all 
fixed,” 

Midge clmig to his hand. “Can’t ya take me home 
now? Gee! If I could on’y hear de Elevated an’ de 
whistles an’ de ottomobiles. It’s so still ya can hear 
it. Ya gotta put yer head unner de covers at night 
to keep it out.” 

“It’s a big help to'me, you stayin’ here on free 

95 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


board like you are. I’m soakin’ me coin away an’ 
gettin’ ahead fast. You gotta do your bit.” 

Midge reconciled himself in a way to this state of 
affairs, but he cried bitterly again when the hour 
came for Jim to leave. 

The second month of separation was even harder 
to bear than the first, for that brief afternoon at the 
Home had served merely to whet Donovan’s appe¬ 
tite, and by now the novelty of hard work was wear¬ 
ing off. The path of self-denial stretched itself be¬ 
fore him, distressingly straight and narrow and inter¬ 
minably long. Times came when he rebelled furi¬ 
ously against the deadly monotony of his daily 
grind, when life became bleak and a hopeless misery 
enveloped him. He was denied even the solace of 
meeting and mixing with his old pals and he could 
make no new ones. 

Things were not going well with the Car Barn 
crowd, either, by the way, for, lacking the cohesive 
force of Jim’s personality, first the other gangs had 
become independent and gradually activities had 
begun to clash. This resulted in hard feelings. 
Then, too, friction developed between the Car Bam 
boys themselves, and they split up. With Donovan 
out of the way, the police rode them close and sev¬ 
eral were sent up, which gave rise to charges of 
disloyalty and to talk about “stools.” Small groups 
of four or five had begun to run together and law- 
96 


BIG BROTHER 


lessness of a serious nature was common in the neigh* 
borhood. From various quarters of the city came 
reports of hold-ups and pay-roll robberies. 

Jim was kept in fairly close touch with these de¬ 
velopments, for the underworld is a peculiarly sensi¬ 
tive realm, vibrating to faint currents and cross cur¬ 
rents of rumor and of gossip, and fellows like Spike 
Doyle, whose friendship had been proven, came to 
him now and then with all the latest news. 

Jim visited Roosevelt Home regularly, and every 
month he likewise visited Father Dan. Invariably 
he asked the same question—how long? There was 
something pathetic about his singleness of purpose 
and his utter faith in the priest. It grieved that 
good man to be unable to offer him more definite 
encouragement. Jim played the game, however; 
the path to which he had set his feet led him to 
church and he attended regularly, avoiding nothing 
that could by any means shorten his period of pro¬ 
bation, for always he was uncomfortably aware of 
unseen eyes upon him—the eyes of the Law. The 
Law came to mean something very big, very stern, 
very watchful. His reformation became a topic of 
conversation on East Ninetieth Street and people 
acknowledged that he was no longer so interesting as 
he had been—an opinion to which he heartily sub¬ 
scribed; then they forgot all about him. 

One person there was whose interest did not lag, 
97 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


and that was Kitty Costello; without it he might 
have faltered, strayed, but her approval was like 
wine and her sympathy gave him strength. She was 
an angel and, oh, so pretty! One day, in all diffi¬ 
dence, he invited her to go down to Coney Island 
with him. He anticipated a refusal and he would 
not have resented it. He was nearly stricken speech¬ 
less, therefore, when she accepted—gladly. Here 
was progress. Kitty went out only with decent fel¬ 
lows; to be seen with her gave him a feeling of re¬ 
spectability that was almost oppressive. 

They had a wonderful Sunday together, and com¬ 
ing back he told her how, on the occasion of Cokey 
Joe Miller’s last visit, he had promised to take Midge 
to this land of wonders and how bitter had been his 
disappointment at his inability to do so. 

“I saw that fellow again yesterday,” Kitty said, 
with a little shudder of repugnance. “It’s queer how 
he affects me—like a snake.” 

“Where’d you see him? He didn’t speak to you, 
did he?” Jimmy’s tone, the quick red glow that 
lighted his eyes, gave the girl a pleasant thrill. 
Sometimes the woman who needs protection least 
craves it the most. 

“No. I passed him as I came out of the bank. 
Manelli was with him, but they didn’t see me at all.” 

“Say, don’t you go bankin’ your coin all in one 
place. Banks is regular dead-falls.” 

98 


BIG BROTHER 


“A lot I have to put in the bank. I haxl the pay 
roll.’’ 

Donovan’s bantering smile gave way to a frown. 
^‘Whaddye mean, pay roll?” 

‘‘Why, for the plant! I draw it every Saturday, 
just before the bank closes. That gives me time to 
make out the envelopes. Where do you think your 
money comes from?” 

“Dere’s a lotta hold-ups lately.” 

“I know, but Mr. McConnigle thinks nobody 
would suspect a girl. Anyhow, who’d hold me up?” 

“I dunno. Listen. If ever ye do get it, don’t 
try an’ be a hero. Take me tip an’ don’t pull a Foil 
White. Dem struggles is great in de movies, but 
when a guy gets so hard up he goes for a pay roll in 
daylight, he’s too noivous to t’ink about manners. 
You’d look cute, wouldn’t you, wit’ a lump on yer 
head?” 

“Ouch!” exclaimed Kitty. 

“I’d keep yer room fulla flowers, but flowers costs 
money an’ money’s expensive. Dat’s somet’ing I’ve 
loined lately. If McConnigle can’t go wit’ ye, ask 
him to send me.” 

“Do you honestly think there’s any danger?” 

“Not wdt’ a guy like me along. It wouldn’t hardly 
be interestin’.” 

Kitty promised to speak to the boss, but when a 
week or»two had passed and Jim was not called upon 
99 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


he assumed that the firm had delegated somebody 
else to act as her escort. They could scarcely be 
expected to trust an ex-gangster that far. 

Once only during the long summer did Donovan 
put over something crooked and Midge was the 
cause of that. A month to tl^e boy was an eternity, 
and finally he declared his intention of running away 
unless Jim came oftener to see him, so the man 
yielded to his own hungry desires and consented to 
return the next Saturday afternoon. 

They had found a secluded spot on the grounds 
where nobody ever came, and there, at the ap¬ 
pointed time, they met. For two long hours they 
visited, through the fence, and Jim left barely in 
time to get back to the plant for the pay-off. Sev¬ 
eral times they repeated this performance, until 
Donovan awoke to the perils of the practice. He 
was sufficiently experienced to realize that discovery 
was inevitable, and sober thought convinced him 
that he was not only doing the boy a grave injustice, 
but also that he was jeopardizing the outcome of his 
own experiment. He had suffered too much to en¬ 
dure the prospect of postponing his reward, and so 
he declared the thing must end, at once, that very 
day. 

Midge refused point blank to accept this dictum. 
He had never done anything to warrant his imprison¬ 
ment; he hated the place, anyhow, and everybody in 

lOO 


BIG BROTHER 


it. He^d run away. The bigger boys were always 
talking about escape and some of them tried it. He 
could make a getaway any time he felt like it, and 
if Jim didn’t love him enough to come and see him, 
he knew what he’d do. He’d go out West and kill 
real Indians or become a conductor. The West 
was full of opportunities for men of his type. He 
knew how to make butter now; he could get to be 
a cowboy and send for Jim. 

The latter argued gently with him. ^T’d give me 
right eye to see ye every day,” he confessed, “but 
we gotta be regular guys. You can’t get nowhere by 
cheatin’, Midge. You gotta loin how to take de 
woist of it wit’out squealin’. Dat’s what makes a 
good gangster. Dere’s laws everywhere, kid, an’ 
men has gotta live up to ’em. Dem rules you got in 
dere is boy laws. Anybody can bust a law, but it— 
it takes a tough guy to run straight.” 

“I don’t wanna run straight,” Midge declared, 
angrily. “I wanna be like you.” 

Donovan flushed; his heart sank. Here was a 
quick crop; here was fertile soil indeed. No wonder 
Midge thought all you had to do was put seed in a 
hole and in a day or so get “hunnerds.” He tried to 
explain that he was not a tough citizen, that he had 
been a bad boy, like Midge, but that now his past 
filled him with unspeakable horror. He had reformed 
and the new life was something to talk about; it was 


lOI 


BIG BROTHER AbW OTHER STORIES 


splendid; it was fun. It was dead easy to be 
crooked, but—he repeated Father Dan’s text that 
it takes a tough guy to go straight. That was a tell¬ 
ing line and he was glad he remembered it. 

All boys are bandits and Midge Murray was 
sorely disappointed in his hero. Jim was finally 
forced to issue an ultimatum—not only was this 
their last illegal visit, but also he would completely 
cut Midge off his calling list unless he promised to 
can this talk about running away. He would not 
come back at all. With these words he rose to go. 

Midge thrust his little hands through the wire 
mesh and clung to him. He wept. A month was 
too long; he couldn’t stand it; but he’d promise to 
be good. 

Jim kissed him through the fence, and his last 
picture was of the boy still weeping, his hands out- 
thrust like a prisoner with his wrists in the stocks. 

Evidently there had been some delay in paying 
off the men to-day, for the window was closed when 
Jim arrived and the line extended out into the yard. 
As he hurried through to take his place at the end, 
a stranger stepped out of the cashier’s office and 
said: 

‘‘McConnigle wants to see you, Donovan.” 

“See me? What for?” Jim knew instantly that 
the man was a detective. 


102 



BIG BROTHER 


Thepe was no answer. Jim passed down the hall 
and into the manager's office, but as he stepped 
through the door his companion announced, trium¬ 
phantly: ^‘Here he is. Just come in all out of 
breath.^’ 

McConnigle rose from his desk with an exclama¬ 
tion; then Jim saw that there was another plain¬ 
clothes officer with him. They had been questioning 
Kitty Costello, for she stood at bay, very white and 
shaken. She had been crying, and now she dabbed 
at her eyes with a tiny wad of a handkerchief and 
blew her nose. 

Trouble again! Instantly Donovan was on guard. 

‘^What do you know about this?’^ McConnigle 
barked at him. 

“About what?” 

“This hold-up.” 

“What hold-up?” 

The officer who had entered with Jim broke in 
shortly: “Lemme do the talkin\ You better come 
clean, Donovan. WeVe got enough on you to hold 
you, but what we want is that money and we want 
it quick.” 

“Was you stuck up?” Jim shot the question at 
Kitty and she nodded. “Who done it? Anybody 
we know?” 

“I don’t think so. There were two strangers who 
walked along and crowded me over. Oh, it all hap- 
103 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


pened so quickly and so unexpectedly. You warned 
me about it and told me not to fight them, but I’m 
sorry I didn’t, for these officers seem to think—they 

act as if-” Kitty broke down and sobbed 

wretchedly. 

Donovan’s face had reddened. With a sneer he 
exclaimed: ^‘Sure! I know how dey act. Just be¬ 
cause you didn’t give battle an’ get bumped off dey 
t’ink you’re in on it. Coitenly!” To McConnigle 
he blazed: ^^An’ because I give her a little good 
advice, I framed it. Dat’s great! You got a poifect 
case—I don’t t’ink! You oughta get rapped on de 
roof wit’ a lead pipe, sendin’ a goil all alone t’rough 
de streets wit’ a suitcase o’ kale an’ de town boilin’ 
wit’ stick-ups. I hope ye lost a million. Why didn’t 
ye spread it out on a tray?” 

‘^Too bad McConnigle didn’t send you with her. 
You asked him, didn’t you?” It was the first detec¬ 
tive speaking. 

‘T didn’t ask nuttin’, stupid.” 

^‘How comes you didn’t hear about this stick-up? 
Been at work all afternoon?” 

Again Donovan’s lips curled scornfully. ‘‘Now, 
Sherlock! You know as well as I do I was off at 
noon. Where’d ye go, you says next. Well, I went 
out to see me kid. Roosevelt Home.” 

The officer in his turn was getting red. “Don’t 
104 



BIG BROTHER 


get too fresh, young fellah. Where were you last 
Saturday when this girl went to the bank?” 

‘^Same place.” 

“And the Saturday before that?” 

“Roosevelt Home.” 

“Hunh! You always was good on alibis, but 
that’s easy checked up. We’ll call the Home when 
we get to it.” 

Hastily Jim said: “Dat won’t get you nuttin’. 
Visitors ain’t allowed only once a month.” 

“Oh! They let you in any time?” 

Plainly there was danger here of getting Midge 
into trouble, so Jim ignored the elaborate irony of 
the last inquiry and with rigid face and steady stare 
explained: “I’m stuck on dat kid. It goes hard 
seein’ him so seldom, so I hang around de outside an’ 
look in. Foolish, ain’t it?” 

“You said it—foolish! Couldn’t you frame a 
better one than that?” 

The other plain-clothes man spoke up now. 
“Maybe he was out there. What kind of a car did 
you use?” 

“Me own private car, same as alius.” 

“What’s the number?” 

“Now you got me, officer. Us millionaires has got 
so many an’ de numbers runs so high; but ye can 
find it easy. On de front it says, ‘Bronx Express.’ ” 

“No use grilling him,” McConnigle asserted, im- 

los 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


patiently. want that money and we^re wasting 
time.” The desk phone at his elbow rang and he 
snatched it up. He was disappointed in the call, 
however, for evidently it came from some downtown 
news service. ^^Yes. Yes! Thirty-five hundred 
and something. . . . About two thirty or quarter of 
three. . . . They snatched it from my bookkeeper 
and ran. . . . No, they didn’t hurt her. One of 
them got away in an automobile, but the other 
couldn’t make it; he ran. The officer on the corner 
chased him, but— ... Yes, they picked the car 
up on the West Side later, or one that looked like it. 
They ran that, too, as far as Van Cortlandt Park, 
then they lost it. Headed east, towards the Bronx. 
. . . Oh, sure, we have some clews! We’re working 
on them now. . . . Not at all. Good-by.” 

During this conversation the detectives had been 
conferring in low tones and Donovan had done some 
thinking. To his employer, he said: 

“You don’t really t’ink Miss Costello was in on dis 
play, do ye?” 

“I—I hate to think so, but these men-” 

“We’re here to do the thinking,” Jim’s captor 
broke in. “She’s been pallin’ around with you and 
she got you in here. You’ve been off every pay-day 
when she went for the money, and you made a play 
to be appointed her guard. It didn’t get over, but 
when the stick-up happens she lets go of that satchel 
io6 


BIG BROTHER 


without a squawk and comes in without even her hair 
mussed. All right. Just now weTe waitin’ for news 
of a green Cadillac touring car with two bran’-new 
spares and a Jersey license. The plate is phony, of 
course, but the car was bound up toward the Bronx 
and in you breeze from the Bronx not two hours 
later. Been hangin’ over the fence at an orphan 
asylum! To get a peek at your kid! Anybody see 
you there? No. You just love kids and flowers. 
You was makin’ a daisy chain, maybe. Lousy, Jim! 
Lousy! We’ve got you. What we want next is that 
thirty-five hundred. We’ll sweat the rest out of this 
girl. A little of the rough stuff—you know!—and 
they usually come through.” 

‘‘Wait!” Donovan cried, sharply. “You could 
hang a guy like me on what you got, but her— 
You want dat coin? All right! Gimme a chance to 
locate it. I got friends an’ me head ain’t as fat as 
some I know. Any guys dat ’ll waste time sweatin’ 
her wouldn’t know a pay roll if dey saw it. But 
ye gotta move fast, before it’s split up. Toin me 
loose-” 

“Sure we’ll turn you loose,” heartily assented the 
former speaker, “just like—this! ” With the words, 
he snapped a pair of handcuffs upon Donovan’s 
wrists. “You’d hurry right out and get that kale, 
now, wouldn’t you? And you’d hurry right back 
with it. Of course you would! Better ring for the 
107 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


wagon, Joe. I’ll take this bozo into the next room 
and have a little talk with him while you work on the 
girl. How do them irons feel, Donovan?” 

couldn’t ’a’ stood it much longer wit’out ’em.” 
Jim passed through the door that was held open for 
him. 

‘^Don’t have me arrested,” Kitty implored her em¬ 
ployer. Jim’s honest and—so am I.” 

“It’s out of my hands,” McConnigle told her, in 
genuine distress. “These policemen are sure Dono¬ 
van used you, at least, and—well, it serves me right 
for taking in a—a gangster like him. I don’t believe 
in reform; never have.” 

The officer called Joe began brusquely and in a 
tone that carried to Donovan’s ears: “Now then, 
miss, do you realize what it means to be booked on a 
charge like this? You know how the newspapers 
handle this kind of a story: ‘Gangster’s girl accused 
of complicity in daring daylight robbery.’ A lot of 
stuff like that. You’re a poor girl and you’ve got a 
mother on your hands. It ’ll be a long time before 
you get another job even if you beat this case.” 
Kitty moaned faintly and bowed her head. “Come, 
now! Mr. McConnigle can’t afford to lose that 
money. If you could remember seeing Donovan in 
that car he might consent to drop the charge against 
you. What d’you say?” 

For some time the girl endured this torture in 
io8 


BIG BROTHER 


silence. Her questioner finally gave up and called 
in to the next room, “The wagon’s here; bring him 
in.” When there came no response, he rose, opened 
the door, and—almost stumbled over the body of his 
team mate. 

The latter lay motionless upon the carpet. He 
was breathing faintly, his head was bleeding freely 
from a nasty scalp wound, and the handcuffs that 
Donovan had worn lay beside him, advertising the 
source of the contusion that had laid him low. A 
window stood open. 

A five-handed p>enny-ante game in Spike Doyle’s 
room was interrupted when Jimmy Donovan entered 
unannounced. Briefly but quietly he explained how 
and why he had come. 

The pugilist was the first to speak. “Gee, dat’s 
tough, after all your woik!” 

“Sure. It’s de blow off. But wouldn’t ye t’ink 
dem fly cops would of loined somet’ing by dis time? 
De idea o’ lockin’ me up alone wit’ one dick, an’ 
nuttin’ on me but a pair o’ tin cuffs! What good is 
a reppitation, anyhow? Dey got a great set-up, 
though. I’m de master mind dat framed de skull¬ 
duggery an’ Kitty is Nugget Nell, de bandit’s bride. 
She’s in on it. Can ye beat dat fer solid ivory? 
Dey was givin’ her de thoid when I left—dat’s what 
made me see red.” There were general expressions 
*' 109 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of indignation at this, and Jim went on: ^‘Dey’ll 
book her, sure, an’ McConnigle ain’t got de noive 
to call ’em off. Ye know what dat means. It ’ll 
kill her old woman.” 

‘^Looks like dey got it on you pretty strong, Jim; 
an’ your getaway don’t help it none,” said one of the 
boys. 

^‘Oh, sure! I’m cooked. I gotta woik fast. 
Whaddye know about dis hold-up?” 

‘We knew somepin was cornin’ off,” Doyle con¬ 
fessed, “but we never s’posed-” 

“Miller an’ Manelli had a piece of it; dey been 
spottin’ for two or t’ree weeks. She seen ’em. Any¬ 
body know where dey hang out?” 

“Over in Hell’s Kitchen. Dey come up fer air 
when you took de veil an’ dey been specializin’ on 
strong-arm stuff—dem an’ de two Aronsons.” 

“I should ’a’ bumped ’em off when I had de 
chance; anyhow. Miller. He’s me king o’ spades.” 
Jim told of Cokey Joe’s visit to Midge, and the boys 
were loud in their wrath. “Dat’s de kind of a roach 
he is. An’ he played in wit’ dat holy-roller dat sent 
de kid away. Killin’ wouldn’t do him a bit o’ 
harm.” 

“How you goin’ at dis t’ing, now?” Doyle in¬ 
quired, sharply. 

“I dunno yet. Here’s how I got it pitchered, 
takin’ it for granted dey done it: de Aronsons 


no 



BIG BROTHER 


grabbed dat keester—Kitty not knowin^ ’em, see? 
Manelli’s a chauffeur, so he run de car, an’ dat left 
Joe to look out. One o’ de Aronsons made it to de 
car an’ Manelli dusted, leavin’ de other one flat. 
Dem boys musta had a scare, for dey never got clear 
dis side o’ Van Cortlandt. Dey’ll drift in, one at a 
time, after dark, for de split. Aronson or Manelli 
will have de coin on ’em. Dey wouldn’t give it to 
Miller.” 

“Mebbe it wasn’t dem, at all.” 

‘^Sure. Dem’s me chances. But what was Monk 
an’ Joe doin’ around de bank? I s’pose dere’s a four- 
eleven alarm out for me by dis time, but I’m in wit’ 
dat Kitchen crowd an’ I’ll get de low-down—if I 
ain’t picked up.” 

“We better get movin’,” said Doyle as he rose. 

But Jimmy checked him. “Lay off. Spike. Wanna 
start another gang war an’ get a lotta guys killed?” 

“You can’t do nuttin’ alone.” 

“Not much, mebbe, but I’m at de end o’ me string, 
anyhow. I’ve lost me kid an’ me—an’ everyt’ing 
else. If McConnigle gets his coin back, mebbe he 
won’t house Kitty, an’ I’m finkin’ o’ her. After 
supper ye can look up Father Dan an’ give him de 
inside. I’d like him to know I was straight. Him 
an’ Kitty. Don’t squeal on Manelli an’ Miller an’ 
de Aronsons; just tell him a guy like me don’t mind 


III 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


takin’ a chance for somebody dat’s woith it. So 
long!” 

There was some surprise among the HelPs Kitchen 
boys when Jimmy Donovan appeared with the an¬ 
nouncement that the police were after him. 

“What^s gone wrong wit’ de big reform?” some¬ 
body inquired. 

Donovan answered with a grin: “A guy’s gotta 
reform when he’s crowded. Dey grabbed me kid an’ 
put me on probation. What else could I do? I 
been walkin’ pretty, an’ goin’ to choich, an’ singin’ 
tenor at de top o’ me voice, but”—^he shook his head 
angrily—‘‘dere’s a Jew coise on me. I had a deal 
all ribbed for t’irty-five hundred—a poifect set-up it 
was—an’ somebody beats me to it.” 

^‘Whaddya mean?” 

‘Tay roll. I been woikin’ de skoit dat carries it; 
spendin’ me coin on her, too, an’ takin’ her to Coney, 
an’—Lookit!” He extended his hands for observa¬ 
tion. ^^Dere’s me badge o’ shame. Money oined 
by dem callouses—hard money! I spend it like 
water on dat Jane an’ get her all jumpy wit’ hold-up 
stories. Honest, de boss is about to deppetize me 
for a special guard, when—zowiel In crashes a 
bunch o’ yeggs, strong-arms me gal, an’ runs out 
wit’ de coin. My coin! If dat ain’t a break! Of 
course she spills de hull heart-renderin’ story an’ de 
cops slap de irons on me. Six months’ hard woik, 

II2 


BIG BROTHER 


an^ all I’ve done is frame meself right into a pinch! 
Not a chance to beat it, either. I slips dem mittens 
an’ bends ’em over one o’ de Hawkshaws. He’s 
sleepin’ yet. Looks like I’d have to run over to 
White Sulphur Springs or some stylish resort for me 
healt’ if he don’t wake up.” 

‘^Gee! dat’s a hit!” one of the listeners announced, 
with a chuckle. ‘T gotta slip dat to Big Aronson.” 

^^Yeah? Ain’t he had a good laugh lately?” Jim 
appeared to be pretty sore. After a moment he said, 
casually, “Dey tell me Cokey Joe’s joined out wit’ 
youse guys.” 

“Sure! Him an’ Monk Manelli.” 

“A coupla bums, de bot’ of ’em! Me an’ dem 
had a run-in. Say, has de Aronson boys got any 
kale?” 

“Now an’ again. Why?” 

“Because I gotta make a getaway touch, an’ a big 
one. De hull East Side is boilin’ an’ de cops is 
layin’ for me. Mebbe youse guys can pass de hat? 
All I need is a coupla hundred-” 

“Stop dat noise, Jim! Little Aronson’s aroun’, 
but de big Jew’s on de dodge. He can stake ye if 
he wants to.” 

“Dat ’ll be fine. I done him many a good toin. 
How about a game o’ Kelly?” 

This suggestion was acted upon and during the 
next hour or so Donovan knocked the pool balls 

113 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


about, gossiping idly, but keeping his ears open. He 
knew as much now as was necessary, but he learned 
additional facts that made him even more certain 
of his ground. Darkness was slow in coming and 
meanwhile he wondered if Kitty had been taken to 
the station house. If so, delay would mean little to 
her, but as for himself, every hour put him in greater 
jeopardy inasmuch as the police on this side of town 
had doubtless been apprised of his escape and would 
soon be taking active steps to apprehend him. Dusk 
had settled when finally he slipped out into the street 
and made his way cautiously from doorway to door¬ 
way. Knowing pretty well where the officers on the 
avenue were apt to be found, he went down toward 
the river, and from there made his way to the 
Aronsons’ place of residence through the negro sec¬ 
tion. Arrived safely, he took his place in the hall¬ 
way of the building where they roomed, and waited 
as patiently as might be. 

Big Aronson was the first to arrive. He appeared 
suddenly, as if materialized out of the shadows, and 
he was alone. When Jim spoke to him he started 
and reached nervously for his gun, but Donovan 
reassured him with a word and explained his mission. 
He was on the run; the police had blocked him off 
from his own gang; he needed money at once. 

Aronson was relieved and expressed his willingness 
to help, but he, too, had put in a bad afternoon. 

114 


BIG BROTHER 


“I know/’ Jim nodded. ‘‘Dat McConnigle job. 
Dey grabbed me for it. Dat’s why I gotta duck.” 

^^Nottin’ like it!” Aronson roughly declared. 

‘‘Hush yer noise, Abe! I s’pose I’m gonna do a 
stretch for you an’ your brother, just because I ain’t 
got de price of a ducket? Do some finkin’ for your¬ 
self! An’ you wit’ de coin on ye, dis minute.” 

The big fellow changed his tone. “I ain’t got it, 
honest I ain’t. They run us ragged, Jim. I jumped 
the car an’ shot into a pitcher house. Been there in 
the dark all afternoon. Manelli’s got the stuff.” 

“Manelli?” 

“Sure! Him an’ Miller. It was their job, any¬ 
how.” 

“Fine chance I got wit’ dem boids. Dere’s a 
coupla bums I would squeal on. Dey squealed 
on me.” 

Aronson was indeed thinking for himself, and he 
said, earnestly: “Listen, Jim. Monk’s goin’ to leave 
the car in a garage he knows about. Him an’ Joe ’ll 
be in bime by an’-” 

“Dey cornin’ here?” 

“They better come! Lay out fer an hour or two 
an’ then come back. I’ll slip you a piece. Honest, 
I will.” 

“Looks like it’s me only out,” muttered Donovan. 
Reluctantly he moved toward the street. 

He did not go far, however. Quickly he slipped 

115 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


into another hiding place and waited, his eyes roving 
actively up and down the thoroughfare. Outwardly, 
he was at ease, but within him a fever was burning. 
Make a bum of Kitty Costello, would they? As if 
this pair had not done enough to her already, yes, 
and to him. He smiled sardonically at the ease with 
which he had carried through his enterprise up to 
this point—as if these boys were any match for 
him! The adventure was becoming interesting now, 
and it began to look as if he might manage to pull it 
off. Its outcome would have given him no great 
concern if only he had dared to come armed as in 
olden days, but that, of course, was impossible, for 
only crooks evade the Sullivan law and he had laid 
off his automatic along with his other bad habits. 
To-day, of all days, he could not afford to carry a 
weapon or permit one to be planted on his person. 
After all, however, the risk was such that a little 
more, or less, made no difference. 

He saw a patrolman saimter past the brightly 
lighted shop windows on the corner, stop and stare 
in. The fellow looked like Burke, and he remem¬ 
bered that Burke and Collins had been transferred 
some time back. One policeman was as good as 
another to-night, but it cheered him up to realize 
that he had acquaintances near by. 

In and out of a big public garage on West End 
Avenue automobiles were coming and going, and 

ii6 


BIG BROTHER 


every few minutes one of them rushed up the side 
street past him. Groups of children were playing 
noisily on the sidewalks and darting back and forth 
across the asphalt in reckless disregard of life and 
limb; on some steps under a near-by street light, 
several slovenly women were seated, calmly talking, 
in utter oblivion to the danger to their young ones. 
In the densely crowded, poorer sections of New York 
daily familiarity with traffic perils breeds a merciful 
indifference on the part of parents. A man in his 
shirt sleeves was teaching a very dirty baby to walk; 
inmates of the flats beneath which Jim waited 
brushed past him occasionally, but it was a sultry 
autumn evening and many of the doorways were 
blocked with loiterers, so his motionless figure ex¬ 
cited no comment. 

He waited for a long time. 

A taxicab rounded the corner below, coming from 
uptown; it slowed down and drew in toward the 
curb. As it rolled past him Donovan caught a 
glimpse of its two occupants and sauntered forth. 

Cokey Joe Miller was paying the driver, and 
Monk Manelli, with a package wrapped in a news¬ 
paper, was stepping out just as Jim approached. 
Jim had expected to see just such a bundle, all done 
up ready to be dropped in case of necessity. The 
whole thing, in fact, was happening just about as he 
had imagined it would, and in the peculiar frame of 
117 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


mind that accompanies repressed excitement it all 
seemed familiar—as if it had happened before or as 
if it were the final acting of a carefully rehearsed 
performance. 

What occurred next was swift and unexpected. 
Manelli felt his package snatched from beneath his 
arm, felt himself flung backward so forcibly that his 
heels collided with the running board of the auto¬ 
mobile and he fell half into the open door. 

^^Don’t move!” At the sharp command, Miller 
started and flung the silver in his palm broadcast, 
then he stood petrified, watching the man he feared 
and hated more than any man in the world back 
slowly away from him. 

Manelli scrambled to his feet, but he, too, stood 
frozen. 

The maneuver had been effected in less time than 
it takes to tell it. No doubt it would have been 
carried through as planned except for the fact that 
others had been awaiting the arrival of that package 
with anxiety equal to Donovan^s. The Aronson 
boys had been lurking belowstairs, and Jim heard 
them coming, glimpsed them over his shoulder. He 
turned and spoke to them in a low tone. 

Profiting by this opportunity. Miller drew his gun 
and fired—point blank at Donovan’s back. The 
latter spun, staggered; before he could recover, 

ii8 


BIG BROTHER 


Miller shot again. Manelli, too, had his weapon out 
and was firing it wildly. 

Instantly the street was in an uproar. Children 
fled screaming, women shrieked, men raced for 
shelter; in the open windows overhead faces ap¬ 
peared. 

Those who witnessed the excitement could make 
little of it at first, for all they saw was a confusion 
of scurrying figures and a man bent double, lurching, 
stumbling up the block as fast as he could go. Then 
they beheld two others, one standing upon the step 
of a taxicab; both were firing after the retreating 
figure. This was cold-blooded murder. There came 
loud shouts of protest, exclamations, curses. 

Somebody threw something down at the marks¬ 
men. The first missile was followed by others^—milk 
bottles, flower pots, anything that could be seized 
upon, crashed about them. A moment, then the 
gunmen ducked into the shelter of the cab and it 
rolled away from the curb, gained swift momentum, 
and rushed up the street and away. Their victim 
had reached the corner now, but there he stumbled; 
he was moving ever more slowly, as if his feet were 
shod with leaden shoes. 

Officer Burke broke into a run as he beheld a man 
stagger, fall, then regain his balance and come reel¬ 
ing down the avenue toward him. The fellow col¬ 
lided blindly with pedestrians and they recoiled, 
119 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


then stared after him in a manner to indicate that he 
was not merely drunk. Some of them tried to halt 
him, but on he came, zigzagging, taking the whole 
sidewalk in his course. An instant, then out of the 
side street from which he had come poured an ex¬ 
cited throng, crying: “Police!” “Murder!” 

Burke paused, disbelieving his eyes. Jimmy 
Donovan! Running right into his arms! And the 
entire force on the lookout! Here was a piece of 
luck. 

Donovan was close enough now to recognize him, 
and he called Burke^s name, hoarsely, imploringly. 
His legs buckled under him again, and once more he 
sprawled upon his face, but he came to his knees and 
crawled forward until, like a sick retriever dog, he 
laid at the policeman^s feet a packet wrapped tightly 
in a newspaper. It was red and shiny with his blood. 

The gangster raised a face ghastly white and dis¬ 
torted with pain. “Here’s a present, Boike,” he 
coughed. “De McConnigle pay roll. T’irty-five 
hundred-” Then he collapsed. 

Burke phoned the station a few minutes later, 
announcing: 

“IVe got the McConnigle money. Donovan had 
it, all right, and he was makin’ a getaway. He 
gimme a battle, but I stopped him an’ he’s in the 
drug store now. Better send the ambulance.” 

120 



BIG BROTHER 


Kitty Costello did not spend that night behind 
bars. An appeal to Father Marron had brought him 
raging to the plant, and as a result of his scorching 
arraignment of her employer she had been allowed 
to go home. Nevertheless, it was a night of torture 
for the girl. Not for one moment did she credit 
Jim’s guilt; to doubt his honesty was to doubt the 
genuine quality of his reform. It was to doubt his 
love for her, and in spite of the fact that he had 
never voiced his feelings, he had proved in a thou¬ 
sand ways that he idolized her with all the strength 
of his being. As a matter of fact, that certainty had 
put music into Kitty’s heart. 

She imderstood perfectly why he had fled, and to 
her it was anything but a confession of guilt. Panic 
had mastered him; he had yielded to a moment of 
weakness quite natural in one bred to his distrust 
of the law. Nevertheless, he had signed his own 
warrant, undone the careful work of months, and— 
and brought down Kitty’s castle of dreams in irre¬ 
trievable ruin. That was almost as hard to bear as 
the certainty of his peril. She walked the floor until 
the gray light of dawn stole in upon her, until the 
city awoke and began another day. She had al¬ 
ways loved this city of hers, had always considered 
herself an intimate, vital part of it, and she had 
always thought it beautiful. But to-day she hated it. 
It seemed to her that it was an enormous, ugly. 


I2I 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


clanking machine, without heart or soul or S5mipa- 
thy. Yes, more than that—a monstrous, inhuman, 
wicked invention that destroyed weak men and 
helpless women. 

She heard Father Marron’s step on the stairs 
finally, and ran to admit him, then she fell back 
with a wordless cry. The priest entered with head 
bowed; he stood silently, his eyes lowered. 

^‘What is it? Have they—got him?’’ Kitty 
gasped. 

Father Dan nodded. “Be a brave girl. I’ve bad 
news.” She motioned him to go on. “Jimmy’s— 
hurt.” 

“Not—badly hurt?” 

“Very badly. They say he’s—dying.” 

“O my God!” the girl whispered. 

The caller raised his eyes now and gazed squarely 
into hers. “Do you love him deeply? I thought so. 
What I have to tell you will hurt terribly, but it will 
bring joy to you, nevertheless. Jimmy has redeemed 
himself. He heard the call and he answered. If 
his soul goes to God to-day it will be a clean soul.” 

“Where is he? I must go^-” 

“Wait. Let me tell you what happened. It 
wasn’t fear for himself that caused him to leave in 
the way he did; it was fear for you. He was afraid 
they would drag you off to prison, soil you with the 
smut of a horrid scandal, so he took a chance. 


122 



BIG BROTHER 


Doyle told me everything. Jim went straight to his 
old pals and learned who the robbers were—some 
West Side crooks, I gathered—then he ran them 
down, waylaid them, and recovered the money. 
They shot him, for he had no means of defending 
himself, but he took the money to the nearest officer 
and gave it up. The police had him under arrest 
when I learned of it, and they were taking all the 
credit for recovering the swag and for the sensa¬ 
tional capture of the robber himself. They were 
trying to sweat him! And the poor boy coughing 
the blood from his lungs and fighting for his last 
breath!” 

Kitty Costello moaned and covered her ears. 

‘T straightened that out in short order,” Father 
Dan announced, grimly. ‘The papers have got the 
true story, so has Headquarters, so has McConnigle, 
and Jimmy Donovan’s going to get a square deal 
even if it’s his last one. Remember how I told 
Duryea that he was like those Car Bam boys who 
went to France? Well, he went over the top last 
night—for you, my dear. But he’s a gangster to 
the last. He won’t tell who shot him.” 

“He must tell that. Does he know he’s going 
to-?” Kitty could not speak the word. 

“Oh yes! They left no doubt in his mind. All 
he’ll say is, ‘The boys will get ’em.’ ” 

123 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘Terhaps he’ll tell us.” Kitty crossed the room 
unsteadily and with shaking hands put on her hat. 

Not until she and Father Dan were out in the 
street did she think to inquire about Midge. 

‘^He asked for the boy, of course, and I’ve sent 
for him. I’m praying that they’ll fetch him in 
time.” 

Outside the hospital several Car Barn boys were 
waiting. In subdued tones they asked the priest 
for news, but he could give them nothing more than 
the doctor’s verdict as the police had passed it on to 
him. He drew Doyle aside and inquired: 

^^Do you know who shot him?” 

“Sure we know.” 

“Then for God’s sake, man, speak up! 1 can’t 
bear to think of that boy-” 

Doyle broke in harshly: “You ain’t gotta do no 
thinkin’. An’ de cops dunno how. We just been 
waitin’ fer de bell. He was one swell guy, wit’ a 
heart de size o’ City Hall. Ain’t nuttin’ he wouldn’t 

do fer a-” Spike’s voice broke and he turned 

away. “C’mon, fellahs!” He and his companions 
departed silently. 

They would not permit Jim to be disturbed, for a 
merciful anaesthetic had been administered and he 
was asleep, so Kitty and Father Dan waited. After 
a while the priest went away and the girl waited 
alone on a hard bench in a bare, inhospitable room 
124 




BIG BROTHER 


that smelled strongly of antiseptics. She sat there 
until Midge was brought, until Father Dan returned. 

When word came that they might go up, they 
found Jim awake, to be sure, but with eyes vacant 
and glassy from the effect of the drug. He babbled 
at them weakly, speaking like one in a dream, and 
when Midge began to sob Kitty took him out. To¬ 
gether they waited again, mingling their tears. 

The vigil was unending. It was late afternoon 
when Kitty overheard a nurse and an orderly talk¬ 
ing, and caught enough to bring her to her feet. 

^What is it you were saying?’’ she inquired. “I’m 
Miss Costello. I’m waiting to see Mr. Donovan.” 

“Oh! You’re the girl who was held up. Then 
you’ll be interested. There has been another killing 
—over on the West Side. A fellow they call Cokey 
Joe Something and an Italian by the name of 
Manelli. The police think they’re the ones who 
robbed you. Donovan’s pals didn’t wait long, did 
they?” 

“I knew we’d hear something like that, sooner or 
later, when he refused to talk,” the nurse declared. 
“We’ve had fellows like him before, and it usually 
happens-” 

“Is he so badly wounded? Isn’t there any hope?” 
Kitty implored. 

“I don’t know. He’s not my patient. There is a 
priest with him, but I wouldn’t give up hope, if I 

125 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


were you, for the war taught us how to work miracles 
with gunshot wounds. The doctor is in there now. 
Everything possible will be done.” 

With this slender comfort Kitty went back to 
Midge. Again she waited until Father Dan came 
for them. 

^‘He’s in great pain,” the priest announced, ‘‘but 
the doctor says he has a chance.” Kitty swayed 
and he steadied her. “Come, come! None of that! 
He’s asking for you and Midge. It’s my belief they 
were trying to scare him into talking and we’ve got 
to drive the fear of death out of him. I have a sur¬ 
prise for the lad and you must do your share.” 

Kitty and Midge came into the sick room, hand 
in hand. Jimmy smiled at them and the boy ran 
to him. 

“Hello, kid! How’s it breakin’?” Donovan 
murmured. 

Midge covered his face with kisses and, bearing 
in mind what he had been told, he began, bravely: 
“Say, Jimmy, you ain’t gonna croak. Dat’s ail de 
bunk.” 

“Coiten’y I ain’t. Who said I was?” 

Midge had done his share; he weakened now and 
began to cry hysterically. 

Jim’s face puckered with a spasm of pain; he 
looked up at Father Marron and at Kitty. “You 
gotta hand it to me for one t’ing,” he said, wistfully. 

126 


BIG BROTHER 


“I kep’ tryin’, didn^t I? I^d ’a’ made de grade, too, 
if dey’d gimme a chance. I’d a been his Big 
Brother.” 

Father Dan sf)oke earnestly. “You made the 
grade, Jimmy. I saw the judge this morning while 
you were asleep and I explained everything. He 
says you can have the boy.” 

“Honest?” 

“Honest. All you’ve got to do is get well. We 
need more Big Brothers like you in the League. 
What do you say?” 

For a time Donovan said nothing, but slowly his 
eyes filled, overflowed. “It’s a bet!” he announced, 
then he turned his head toward Kitty and smiled 
radiantly. “A guy couldn’t quit now, could he?” 

Swiftly she came forward, knelt, and took his head 
into her arms. “You’ve got to live for my sake, too, 
Robin Hood.” 

Father Marron turned away. His lips were 
moving. 

After a while Jim addressed him, and his voice 
was stronger : 

“Father.” 

“Yes, Jimmy.” 

“You says once, it takes a tough guy to run 
straight.” 

“Well?” 

“You was all wrong. It’s gonna be a cinch for me.” 

127 






“THE WHITE BRANT” 




it 


r 


“THE WHITE BRANT” 


I N the deceptive light of early dawn the yacht 
looked three times her actual size. Not that she 
was small—Sahel Thorsen provided handsomely for 
himself in all things, and the accommodations aboard 
his cruising houseboat were ample—but to the occu¬ 
pants of the gunning skiff that drew alongside she 
bulked as big as a liner. As the man at the motor 
pulled the switch, putting an end to the bark of 
the unmuffled exhaust, he spoke: 

“‘Crack o^ day,^ an^ here we be! Now, I bet 
the Big Cheese ’ll hang us up till nine o^clock.” 

Mase Garfield, from his position on the forepeak, 
uttered a sibilant, “Sh-h, Cuby!” Then, as he made 
fast to the yacht’s landing boom, he inquired, “Want 
to get us fired before we begin?” 

Cuba fended off the boat in tow with its heavy 
burden of decoys. In a voice both scornful and 
defiant, he declared: “No chance of them bearin’ 
anything. Not with that phonograph runnin’ wide 
open all night. They was dancin’, Mase—dancin’, 
an’ drinkin’ rum, an’ cuttin’ sinful capers. Think 

131 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of ballin’ the jack till one o’clock, with a sou’west 
breeze blowin’ an’ the brant stoolin’! Lord, what 
a battery day this ’ll be! An’ them guys plastered! ” 

Mase swung himself to the landing stage, then 
under his breath he said, authoritatively: ^Tt’s not 
for us to criticize our betters, especially them that 
puts bread and butter into our mouths. Understand? 
It’s been a bad season for guides, and we’re glad 
to take who we can get. Remember that, Cuby, 
and a lot of other things I been tellin’ you.” 

‘‘Oh, I’ll remember! But you can’t make me like 
this outfit, now can you?” 

Mase laughed silently at his companion’s charac¬ 
teristic ill humor^—Cuba was a late sleeper and he 
always nourished an early-morning grouch—then he 
mounted the steps to the deck of the yacht. 

Light shone from the main cabin windows, and 
from within came a tinkle of silver and china, ad¬ 
vertising the fact that breakfast was being served. 
Cuba’s pessimism, it seemed, was unwarranted; here, 
without going further, was proof that the luxury- 
loving Thorsen could rise early as well as dance 
late, proof that he was a sportsman, after all. 

So this was the^—^well, the notorious Gloria, pri¬ 
vateer of the winter fleet! Mase scanned his sur¬ 
roundings curiously and, even though the light was 
dim, he could see enough to warm the heart of any 
seafaring man. The Gloria was a gorgeous craft. 

132 


‘^THE WHITE BRANT= 


This was a suitable anchorage for her, he reflected, 
for in years gone by it had been the favorite retreat 
of Teach, the pirate. Here it was, in fact, that the 
buccaneer had met his death. Mase had heard the 
story many times—how, after the body had been 
beheaded and cast overboard, it had swum thrice 
around the ship—and he believed it. There really 
was no doubting the story, for right down yonder at 
the inlet was the very island that bore Teach’s name, 
a witness to the grisly occurrence as unimpeachable 
as anybody could desire. 

From all Mase had heard, this Thorsen was much 
the same sort of fellow as Teach, except that under 
no circumstance did he ever lose his head. No, 
Thorsen’s head was very well put on. But what 
had induced the man to stop in at this out-of-the-way 
place when it was the open season at Palm Beach 
and Miami? When those hunting grounds afforded 
such splendid sport of the particular nature that 
Thorsen enjoyed? He had passed here every winter 
for years at about this time, and never before had 
he halted Queer. But there was no use speculating 
as to the whys and wherefores of a millionairess 
whims. Last night’s instructions had been concise— 
viz., to be alongside at dawn with a double rig. The 
yacht captain had acted as Thorsen’s mouthpiece, 
and, with a selfish insistence akin to his master’s, 
had demanded the services of Mase Garfield and 

133 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


none other. None but the best was good enough 
for Thorsen, and he would pay double wages if Gar¬ 
field chanced to be engaged with other sportsmen, 
so the skipper had said. It had been an irritating 
message, to be sure, nevertheless it indicated that 
Thorsen might be a regular fellow despite his repu¬ 
tation. 

Mase lit a cigarette and studied the brightening 
sky. It was going to be a great gunning day, that 
was certain, for the wind was right, the tides were 
full, and the fowl were just getting together after 
the recent spell of bad weather. They’d stool to a 
straw hat on a day like this. Mase wondered if 
Thorsen had ordered a double box so as to take one 
of his guests along, or if he expected his guide to 
shoot with him. Most of these hard-hatted, stall- 
fed gunners followed the latter practice, being too 
soft and slow to get up in a battery. Not one in 
ten of them could hit a bull in the rump with a 
spade. 

The door to the deck cabin opened and out into' 
the faint gray light stepped a slim, rubber-booted 
boy in knickers and Norfolk jacket. Mase’s heart 
sank. The next instant he straightened himself with 
a jerk and flung his cigarette overboard, for the boy 
was—a woman, a girl! 

“You are the guide, I presume,” she began. “I’m 
so glad you’re on time.” There was a momentary 

134 


“THE WHITE BRANT= 


pause while she studied the man at the rail. What 
she saw was a well-built young fellow, roughly but 
warmly clad in Mackinaws. His jaw was square, 
his eyes were bold and direct, even reckless; his face 
was burned to a dark, smooth reddish brown. “Mr. 
Thorsen is not feeling well this morning. I wonder 
if you’d mind taking me out alone?” 

Mase did not look like a bashful man, neverthe¬ 
less he stammered something unintelligible. 

“IVe never shot geese,” the girl ran on, hurriedly, 
“but IVe always wanted to. IVe heard so much 
about the hunting here. Mr. Thorsen put in on my 
account.” 

“It’s like this—I got a double rig.” 

“What does that mean? I’ve always shot from 

blinds—^pits, you know. You mean you can’t-?” 

The speaker’s tone became plaintive. “I’ll be horri¬ 
bly disappointed. Couldn’t you manage, somehow? 
I—I must get away—hunting, I mean.” 

Mase cast an apprehensive eye overside toward 
Cuba. “It’s pretty far. It’s an all-day job-” 

“Good! The longer the better.” After a furtive 
glance behind her, the girl stepped closer and low¬ 
ered her voice, “I can take care of myself and I 
know how to shoot. I’m Western. I have my own 
shells and lunch and— What do you say?” She 
smiled up into Mase Garfield’s face and he answered, 
shortly: 


135 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘‘Come a-runninM” 

Mase avoided Cuba’s eyes as he led the girl down 
the landing steps and drew the launch close. In¬ 
deed, not until he had assisted her in and was about 
to cast off did he look at his helper. Then he said: 

“Wind her up, Cuby.” 

“Where’s the rest of the animals?” the latter de¬ 
manded. 

“Ain’t any more. Let’s go!” 

Cuba remained petrified for a moment, then he 
bent himself over the engine and viciously spun 
the flywheel. 

It was with a look of peculiar intentness that Dell 
Marshall watched the Gloria drop astern. After a 
while she breathed deep with relief, squared her 
shoulders, and turned—in time to interrupt a frantic 
interchange of signals between her two boatmen. 
Cuba was in the midst of an alarming facial con¬ 
tortion when she saw him, but he ducked his head 
quickly and hid his face in the engine box. 

“Am I the first sportswoman you ever took out?” 
she inquired. 

Mase grinned. “Yes’m. You’ll have to put up 
with us till we get kinda broke in to the idea. I 
get used to things easy, but Cuby—he’s queer.” 
After a moment, “You’ll have to make allowances 
for him; he swears a good deal. That comes from 
136 


^^THE WHITE BRANT= 


runnin’ a two-cycie engine. You can ignore him 
complete, if you like.” 

Cuba rolled the mean white of an eye at the 
speaker and muttered something which was lost 
in the sound of the exhaust. 

‘^My name is Marshall,” said the girl. 

^^Miz?” 

“No. Miss.” 

Garfield bowed, then he busied himself coiling 
the loose end of the towboat’s painter. He told 
himself meanwhile that his passenger was even more 
attractive than she had at first app)eared. She looked 
all boy in her very modish suit, nevertheless he felf 
certain that in the habiliments of her sex she would 
be quite stunning, in a purely feminine way; and 
while he had been prepared to find beauty among 
Sabel Thorsen’s guests, he had not been prepared 
to encounter anything quite so frank and quite so 
unspoiled as this young woman appeared to be. 
That, doubtless, v/as a carefully studied pose, for 
lack of sophistication scarcely went with the reputa¬ 
tion of the Gloria. An effective pose it was, too; 
Cuba showed that much by his stony, unblinking 
stare. His eyes protruded like a frog’s. 

“Whose yacht is that?” Miss Marshall indicated 
a small white schooner anchored some distance in¬ 
shore from the one she had just left. 

“B’longs to a New Yorker name’ Haskins.” 

137 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


^‘Van Rensselaer Haskins?” 

^‘Yes^m. Van, that’s him.” 

“Really!” The girl regarded the yacht with sud¬ 
den interest. “Van Haskins! What sort of person 
is he?” 

“Finest ever!” Mase unhesitatingly averred, 
“He’s a bear!” 

For the first time Cuba raised his voice. “Nothin’ 
like it. He’s common.” 

“Common?” 

“Commoner than dirt.” 

“I’m supprised at you, Cuby,” Mase was mildly 
reproachful. “After all he’s done for you, too!” 

“He knows what I think of him,” asserted the 
engineer. “I’ve told him often enough. I tell folks 
what I think of ’em an’ I make ’em like it. He’s a 
nut, miss.” 

“What do you mean by that?” queried the girl. 

“Why, he’s”—Cuba struggled for a word; he 
waved his grimy hands—“he’s goofy! His money 
has spoiled him. You know, selfish! Pig-headed! 
Anything goes if it gives him a good time.” 

“Who give you the shirt on your back?” Mase 
demanded, hotly. “Who staked you to them waders 
when your feet was out?” 

“What’s a shirt to the likes of him?” Cuba barked. 
“Anyhow, it was too small for him. An’ waders! 
Don’t he make ’em? He’s got fact’ries, miss, boot 
138 


^‘THE WHITE BRANT 


factVies, an’ rubber factories, more factories than 
we got geese. But he won’t have ’em long!” The 
speaker laughed shrilly, maliciously. “Not if he 
don’t quit his sinful ways.” 

“He’s a great hunter, Van is.” Mase ignored the 
attack upon Haskins’s character. “You’d like that 
in him, even if he is common. Most men are 
hunters of some sort. Some hunts birds and wild 
animals, and others hunts—bigger game. It’s all 
in the way they do it. Mister Thorsen, I reckon, 
is a great hunter, too?” 

Miss Marshall ignored the tone of this inquiry. 
“Indeed!” 

“Ain’t he?” 

“I don’t know.” 

“Um-m! Too bad he’s sick. He’ll miss a fine 
day.” 

Dell Marshall had a keen appreciation of types, 
hence it was not long before she became interested 
in these two banksmen. Cuba, it appeared, was a 
misogynist; a gloomy, carking soul, overcritical and 
acid of tongue; his companion, on the other hand, 
possessed a sunny disposition, entirely refreshing. 
Mase had a native intelligence, moreover, quite un¬ 
usual in guides. For instance, not only did he know 
the habits of the wild fowl, not only could his prac¬ 
ticed eye pick out a solitary redhead from a flock 
of bluebills when to Dell they looked like bees in 

139 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

the sky, but also he read a lesson from the nature 
of their flight, and even the call of the geese con¬ 
veyed a message to him. He possessed an occult 
weather sense, too, and he was a good boatman. 
Wind and tide were his allies. He ran a zigzag course 
through a maze of intricate channels and shallow 
sloughs unmarked by beacon or buoy; his orders 
were given with a, calm but absolute assurance. He 
was a youth of force. Too bad he had been denied 
scope for his larger abilities, Dell reflected, for eyes 
like his indicated a brain alert. What a good world 
this would be if people were permitted to make the 
most of what was in them. Environment is a hide¬ 
ous thing. It welds manacles to capable hands, it 
distorts growth, it stunts character, it crowds its 
victims into artificial molds. She knew something 
about that: something about missed opportunities 
and the weight of chains, for she, too, was manacled. 
As her mind reverted to the Gloria and to Sabel 
Thorsen she shivered slightly. 

However, she had left all that behind; this was 
her escape, for a day at least, and, after all, she was 
young and v/ell and out in the open where the ducks 
were on the wing. She made up her mind to forget 
all else and enjoy this respite to the full. 

Arrived at the hunting grounds, Mase and Cuba 
left her in the launch while they put out the rig. 
Both men went overboard in their waders and 
140 


‘THE WHITE BRANT‘ 


although they appeared to work in harmony, never¬ 
theless it was plain that they were having a heated 
argument, for the irascible, expostulatory tones of 
Cuba’s voice came over the water. Poor Cuba! His 
simple soul was scandalized. 

After a while they came for her in the empty 
skiff and poled her back in among the decoys. But 
when she looked down at the battery, weighted so 
low that its flat decks were almost awash, she 
hesitated. 

‘Tt will sink if I get in,” she protested. 

Mase reassured her, explaining, “You got to keep 
it low or the birds ’ll see it.” 

“S’pose it does sink?” Cuba inquired, sourly. “It’s 
shaller here.” 

“It looks like a—like a couple of coffins, side by 
side.” 

“Mr. Thorsen called for a double rig. We could 
of brought a single as well as not.” 

“Did he?” Miss Marshall looked up quickly. 
She frowned. Then, “What am I supposed to do?” 

“Step in and lie down. I reckon one of us ’ll have 
to shoot with you, for we ain’t got enough iron to 
balance her. Cuby”—Mase grinned at his helper— 
“how about you-?” 

“Not me!” the latter hastily declared. “I’m 
married” 

Dell Marshall flushed faintly, but without fur- 
141 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


ther words she stepped into the battery and Mase 
followed her. ^^Don’t be sheered/’ he laughed, when 
thin wavelets ran over the deck and she shrank back, 
“it’s safe as a dory. Them burlap wings break the 
sea. You’ll be supprised how nice and warm it is 
down there out of the wind. If it breezes up, all we 
gotta do is tie some of these iron ducks to the 
decoy strings and lighten ship.” 

Dell seated herself in her narrow boxlike com¬ 
partment, lay back, and adjusted the folded slicker 
beneath her head. 

“Comf’table?” 

She nodded. 

“Well, the first thing to learn is to keep down, but 
not so low you can’t see what’s cornin’ in. Fix your 
pillow so you can just see the heads of the decoys. 
Right!” 

“Do you mean to tell me that wild geese will come 
to a thing like this? Without any cover whatever?” 

“Sure. You just wait. We’re below the water, 
and they can’t see us unless they fly high. Distances 
will fool you at first, but I’ll give you the word when 
to get up. You better shoot fours in that twenty- 
gauge; they’re good all around. And lay the muzzle 
on the foot deck, so. Safety on? Good.” 

“I’m trembling like a setter puppy,” Dell ac¬ 
knowledged. 

Mase showed his clean, even teeth in a smile— 
142 


“THE WHITE BRANT^ 


they were very white against his brown face. “I 
believe you’re a hunter/’ said he, “and I’m glad you 
come along.” 

Cuba returned to the launch. When he had lifted 
the anchor aboard he waved a wide, renunciatory 
gesture and yelled somethingi to Mase, then he 
started the motor. 

“What was that he said?” Dell inquired. 

“He said he’d lay to down on Percy’s Shoal.” 

Dell settled herself without further comment, but 
her ears were sharp and it had seemed to her that 
the engineer had cried, “And may the Lord have 
mercy on your soul!” Cuba was rapidly becoming 
a pest. 

It was indeed surprising how comfortable one 
could be, snuggled down in the protection of the 
battery. The day was brisk and chilly, to be sure, 
nevertheless there was an agreeable warmth to the 
sun’s direct rays and the lapping of the wavelets, the 
bobbing decoys, the occasional hoarse conversation 
of the live decoys tethered around the outer edge of 
the wooden stools, was soothing. Black specks, 
sooty strings and shreds were drifting along the hori¬ 
zon and Dell’s eyes followed them eagerly. 

Perhaps ten minutes had passed when she started 
nervously and cried, “Oh, look!” She seized her 
gun and half rose. 

“Fisherman ducks!” Mase said without stirring. 

143 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


The birds flew over, peering inquisitively down¬ 
ward. The dry rustle of their wings was plainly 
audible. 

^^Did you see them coming?” 

^^Sure. I got eyes in the back of my head and in 
my elbows. Yonder’s a coupla broadbills headin’ in. 
Take your time.” 

Just over the rim of the box appeared two birds, 
two swiftly-moving club-soda bottles with wings. 
They swung up against the wind and came toward 
the decoys, nearer—nearer. Dell moved restively, 
but her companion said: 

^Wait!” 

On came the birds. They were in plain sight now, 
their markings visible. Dell felt sure they could see 
her as plainly as she could see them, for they were 
perhaps twenty feet above the water and their sharp 
eyes were busy. As they set their wings Mase cried, 
‘^Go to war!” and with the words he sat up. 

Dell rose with him and fired her right barrel. The 
ducks flared at the instant she pulled trigger and the 
result was a clean miss, but with her second shot one 
of them fell. 

‘‘Atta girl!” Mase exclaimed. “Take a little more 
time on the first shot. You’re goin’ to make a hand.” 

“I missed the easy chance,” she complained. 

“Tain’t everybody can score a double on broad¬ 
bills. You centered your second load fine.” Mase 
144 


THE WHITE BRANT= 


rose to his feet, stepped lightly upon the foot deck 
and then overboard. He returned with the dead 
duck and laid it upon the battery wing. “I like to 
wait on myself when I can,” he explained. “Half 
the fun is lookin’ at the birds, strokin’ their feathers, 
and seein’ how pretty they are. Spoils it, for me, 
to have somebody else pick up.” 

“Why didn’t you take the one I missed?” 

“Do you want me to shoot?” 

“Why, of course! I hate to be babied. Let’s 
play the game like two men. You like to shoot, 
don’t you?” 

“Like it!” Mase’s expression was eloquent. “If 
I liked it any better, miss, it wouldn’t be decent.” 

“Then you take the right-handers, and I’ll take 
the left.” 

It was not long before three ducks stooled prettily 
and this time the twenty-gauge was deadly. After 
Dell had dropped her pair, the guide fired with ap¬ 
parent carelessness and killed the third. 

“Redheads!” he announced, when he had retrieved 
them. “Ain’t they beauties?” He laid a fine drake 
in Miss Marshall’s hand and smiled at her exclama¬ 
tion of delight. “Dawg-gone! You shoot like an 
old timer.” 

“Oh, this is fun!” she confessed. 

Next came a flock of brant, wheeling, darting, 

145 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


voicing their throaty call, but they were bound else¬ 
where and passed out of range. 

^Toxy birds, them brant. They can look into 
the neck of a jug,” Mase announced. Then he im¬ 
parted a piece of genuine information. ^‘We got 
practically all the black brant in the world, right 
here between Hatteras and Core Sound. This is 
where they winter and— Look out!” 

^‘Geese! They’re—coming this way!” There was 
a wait, then the girl’s voice shook as she repeated, 
“They’re coming!” An ecstatic thrill couijsed 
through her body; she,huddled lower, craning her 
neck just sufficiently to watch the long line of wav¬ 
ing wing tips. There were perhaps twenty birds in 
the flock; they were flying low and straight and 
steadily. They were very near. It seemed impossi¬ 
ble that they could approach much closer without 
discovering this clumsy ruse, without taking alarm 
at these stiffly bobbing counterfeits, for Canada 
honkers have sharp eyes and they are about the 
wariest of wild fowl. 

“They’re goin’ to stool,” Mase whispered. “Give 
’em time.” 

The live decoys began an excited clatter and 
stretched their white necks; they were answered by 
the oncomers. With a cold, shaking hand, Dell 
clutched her shotgun and ceased breathing. Her 
heart pounded irregularly. She must shoot low, 
146 


‘^THE WHITE BRANT” 

she must not lead birds the size of— She sighed 
deeply with disappointment and stirred, for the 
leader had lifted and was high enough to look down 
into the battery. He had taken fright, given the 
alarm. But, no, on he came, with the flock behind 
him. Dell could see the big gander^s black, shiny 
eyes. He set his wings stiffly and volplaned; the air 
was filled with a clamor of calls; there was a con¬ 
fusion of flapping pinions, an avalanche of settling 
forms. 

She did not hear her companion’s order, she was 
not conscious of having risen to a sitting posture, 
but of a sudden she found the twenty-gauge at her 
shoulder and her cheek against the stock. Then, for 
an instant, time stood still; those hovering bodies 
hung as motionless as if suspended upon wires. 
After that—chaos! The first bird fell with a splash. 
Mase Garfield had leaped to his feet and was firing 
over Dell’s head, other birds were crashing down, 
the live decoys were threshing the water to foam. 
A goose rose directly into line with the girl’s sights 
and poised there with neck outstretched and pinions 
frantically beating the air. Dell felt the recoil of 
the shoulder pad as she pulled the trigger, then she 
saw her target throw back its head and let go. She 
uttered a shriek. 

‘T did! I did! One with each barrel!” She 
dropped her gun and clapped her hands exultantly. 

147 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

‘T’ll say youVe got the eye! ” Mase chuckled. 

“My first goose! Oh-h, I’ll never forget it! I 
thought I’d suffocate. It’s—it’s wonderful! The 
thrill, the excitement!” She continued to chatter 
incoherently, while the guide gathered in the drifting 
trophies and tied them among the stools. 

It was in a wholly different tone that she inquired, 
when Mase finally lay down, dripping, in his side of 
the box, “What is this — tliis hunting instinct? It 
isn’t a desire to kill. It isn’t cruelty. I’m as tender 
hearted as anybody and I love birds and animals. 
We’re not cruel, are we?” 

“Certainly not. It’s something nobody but a 
sportsman understands. Mighty few women know 
what you’re talkin’ about when you try to explain. 
They can’t figure why we don’t get the same sen¬ 
sation from murderin’ meadow larks as from shootin’ 
quail. They don’t understand why we can’t pot a 
bird settin’ still. It all goes back to the time when 
we lived by bow an’ arrow, I s’pose; back to the 
days of the chase when a man used his stone hatchet 
and his bone spear and when he yelped and capered 
around his kill. I s’pose them hairy women used 
to ask their men why they took a chance spearin’ 
saber-tooth’ tigers when there was so many soft- 
shell turtles in the front yard, easy killed with a 
stick. Prob’ly they couldn’t understand it, either.” 

“You don’t consider it wrong to take life?” 

148 


WHITE BRANT’^ 


^^Wrong?’’ Mase shook his head. ^AVe’re meat 
eaters. Created that way. All nature is destructive. 
The strong preys on the weak, the intelligent'lives 
off the less intelligent. Yonder’s an example, now.” 
He indicated a flock of gulls wheeling over a sand 
bar. The tide had fallen away and the birds were 
^^clamming”—bearing clams aloft and dropping them 
upon the bare ground. ^‘Lookit! If the shell don’t 
bust open the first time, they take it up higher. Who 
taught ’em to do that? Nature. Most every living 
thing you see in the air or under the water is hunt¬ 
ing some smaller living thing to kill and eat. Birds, 
beasts, fish, men—they’re all alike. The big ones- 
eat the little ones. Wrong? Why-” 

“You don’t have to convince me,” the girl inter¬ 
rupted. There was a pause. “All the same, it isn’t 
pleasant to think about when you’re one of the weak 
—when you’re the prey.” 

Mase had not erred in saying that this would be 
a great gunning day. It was all of that. The breeze 
freshened enough to wet the battery decks, and with 
the turn of the tide the birds flew. Geese, brant, 
ducks, they came in singles, in doubles, and in flocks, 
and the shell boxes grew lighter. Dell Marshall 
realized that perhaps never again would she enjoy 
a day’s shooting like this, therefore she refused to 
return to the launch for hot coffee. Instead she and 
Mase ate their sandwiches lying down and between 
149 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


shots. The wind, the excitement, had made her 
ravenous; there was a color in her cheeks and a 
brightness in her eyes that awoke the man’s intense 
admiration. Then, too, her unexpected skill with 
the little twenty put him on his mettle and he 
shot as he had never shot before. 

It was shortly after their lunch that he called her 
attention to an unusual sight. ^Xook!” he cried, 
sharply, at the same time raising himself to his elbow. 
‘^Notice that big hawk?” 

“Yes. He’s chasing a sea gull, isn’t he?” 

“So I thought. But it ain’t a gull, it’s a brant. 
A white brantr* 

“A white brant?” Dell sat up. “I never heard 
of such a thing.” 

“I never saw one before. They don’t happen once 
in ten years. Dawg-gone! He’s pretty.” 

A moment and Dell realized that she was witness¬ 
ing one of those grim tragedies of the sky, of the 
wild. The brant, a beautiful thing, snow white ex¬ 
cept for its coal-black beak and wing tips, was in 
terror. It darted, it dove, it circled in frantic efforts 
to escape, but the wide-winged bird of prey pressed 
close. Pursued and pursuer were about evenly 
matched in speed; when the hawk closed in it struck, 
~ and the victim uttered a high-pitched cry of fright. 
They were out of range, nevertheless the sound of 
those blows, whether of wing or beak or talon, were 
150 


^^THE WHITE BRANT= 


plainly audible. The flight carried the birds high, 
then low, backward and forward, in erratic loops and 
circles. 

‘^Gee! I’d give my shirt for that brant!” ex¬ 
claimed the guide. ‘T’d have it mounted.” The 
pursuit swept past, the cries grew fainter. ■ Mase 
sighed and shook his head regretfully. ^T’d give a 
hundred dollars for a shot—if I had it. A white 
brant He continued to stare intently after the 
pair. Of a sudden he stiffened, for the birds had 
wheeled and again were drawing nearer. He fingered 
his shotgun. ‘Toor little devil!” said he. “That 
hawk’s got him winded.” 

“You can’t reach him from here,” Dell cautioned; 
but the man was sitting erect now and the gun was 
half raised. A moment, then he sighted, slowly, de¬ 
liberately. He fired; there was an appreciable lapse 
of time before the shot struck, then, oddly enough, 
the hawk flared, one of its wings crumpled, and it 
fell, fighting, clawing, twisting. It lay upon the 
water, striking viciously at its wounds. 

“Bless your heart!” Dell Marshall cried. “That 
was the peachiest shot I ever saw.” 

“Stretched my gun bar’l about a foot,” he ad¬ 
mitted, with a grin. 

The girl continued to regard him curiously. “It 
wasn’t a miss, was it?” 

He shook his head. 

151 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


^^Then, why didn’t you kill the brant?” 

Mase shoved another shell into his gun. ‘There 
wasn’t time for more ’n one shot.” 

“You’ll probably never see another white brant. 
Why did you shoot the hawk?” the girl insisted. 

“Why-” Mase hesitated, he raised his eyes de¬ 

fiantly. “Tell you the truth, I don’t like hawks.” 

It was considerably after dark when the hunters 
returned to the Gloria; their arrival was greeted by 
expressions of genuine relief. 

“We were getting worried, my dear,” Sabel Thor- 
sen announced as he met his guest at the rail. “Mrs. 
Rumely wanted me to send out a relief party.” 

Mrs. Rumely herself appeared at the moment. 
She had flung a wrap over her bare shoulders, and 
she presented a striking picture, with her emotion¬ 
less white face framed in her famous crown of red 
hair. 

“What ever detained you?” she began, coolly. 
“Were you shipwrecked or something? I’ve been on 
the verge of hysterics.” 

While Dell was making her excuses, out from 
the cabin came Thorsen’s three male guests. The 
second cocktail had been served and they sur- 
roimded the huntress, inquiring as to her luck. 

“I wagered Sabel you wouldn’t get a brace,” 
Rumely told her, cheerfully. “I tried bird shooting, 

152 



‘‘THE WHITE BRANT’’ 


but I couldn’t hit ’em. Don’t tell me I’ve lost?” 
Rumely was a fragile man, several years his wife’s 
junior. He had once been a cigarette salesman, but 
he never referred to it. 

“Wait and see.” With shining eyes, Dell pointed 
overside. 

There came a chorus of exclamations loud enough 
to summon the two other women, and meanwhile 
Cuba passed the day’s bag up over the rail to Mase 
Garfield. 

“Do you mean to say you shot all those fowl?” 
Mrs. Rumely was astonished. “My word! What 
uncanny skill!” 

“ ‘Uncanny’?” Rumely groaned. “Unbearable! 
Unforgiveable! It’s a disaster.” 

“Honestly, now, did you do it or did the guides?” 
It was Thor sen speaking in his deep voice. 

“She had her limit by two ’clock,” Garfield de¬ 
clared. “Then we went ashore for jacksnipe. She’s 
the best woman shot I ever seen. Ain’t many men 
could do that good with a twenty-gauge.” 

Rumely pawed at his host and demanded, in shrill 
tones, “You’ve got to give me a chance to get even, 
Sabel. I’ll lay you five hundred that she kills two 
to your one to-morrow.” 

Thorsen deliberately turned his massive back 
upon the speaker, but the latter was insistent. 

153 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“Come on and lose a bet for a change. I’m goin’ to 
show you up.” 

“That’s not a fair bet,” Miss Marshall protested. 
“I’m a pretty good marksman and battery shooting 
is awkward. I’m not sure Mr. Thorsen would even 
care to try it.” 

“So much the better for me-” 

“I don’t pretend to be a good shot,” the yacht 
owner said, sourly. 

“Five hundred she beats you, Sabel. You owe 
me a chance to get even.” Turning to the guide, 
Rumely inquired, “Is it a good bet?” 

“I’ll take half of your end,” Mase answered, with 
a broad grin. 

Mrs. Rumely addressed her husband irritably. 
“Don’t be a pest, Joe. And you, dear,” she spoke 
to Dell, “run along and dress. We’re all nearly 
famished.” 

But the youthful helpmate of the chaperon was 
not to be put down; he gloried in the appellation 
of pest, so he declared; he asserted that his nuisance 
value was at least five hundred dollars and he pro¬ 
ceeded to resubmit his offer in varying detail until 
finally Thorsen said: 

“All right. All right! I’ll take you—provided I 
feel up to it in the morning.” 

“Aha! There’s a joker, as usual. Headaches are 
barred, old bean. There’s no disability clause-” 

154 




‘^THE WHITE BRANT= 


Thorsen exposed his white shirt front to the guide; 
gruffly he said: “You and your man go forra^d and 
tell the steward to give you a drink.” 

“Thanks, but we don’t use it,” Garfield told him. 

There came a choking sigh, almost a moan, from 
Cuba, who was passing the birds overside. 

It was nearly midnight. Dell Marshall dropped 
her hands from the keyboard of the piano, saying: 

“That’s all I can sing to-night. I’ve had a long 
day and I’m tired.” 

“You’re not going to bed at this hour?” Thorsen 
queried, in dismay. 

The girl nodded. “You’d better do the same if 
you’re going to get up at dawn.” 

Now the owner of the Gloria had no faintest in¬ 
tention of shooting on the morrow—not after 
Rumely’s wager. He was a vain man; ridicule he 
could not stomach; and to be bested by a woman 
at any undertaking, he considered nothing less than 
a humiliation. Moreover, there were certain rea¬ 
sons why he did not wish to appear to poor advantage 
before this particular girl; therefore he spoke 
evasively. His plans for the next day would depend 
upon his mood, upon the weather. It might be well 
to run on to Beaufort, inasmuch as his other guests 
had put in such a stupid day. Noting the disappoint- 

155 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


ment that clouded his hearer’s face at this sugges¬ 
tion, he asked: 

^‘Do you want to stay over and try it again?” 
don’t want to be selfish-” 

‘We shall remain here as long as you wish,” he 
told her, quickly. ‘Tt is you who gives orders here.” 
When Dell found no response to this statement, he 
went on: “It’s worth something to see you look as 
you do to-night. And when you came in from the 
hunt! Eyes like stars! New color in those lovely 
cheeks! ” Gently he pinched one of the lovely cheeks, 
and it was only by an effort that the girl kept her¬ 
self from flinching at his touch. “Yes, and your 
figure in that boy’s suit— Gad! You were irre¬ 
sistible!” The speaker’s massive hands closed 
slowly, significantly; into his voice there came a 
thick quality, an emotional timbre that sent a chill 
of apprehension through his hearer. He had been 
drinking, as usual, and in his eyes was a smoldering 
fire that Dell had learned to dread. What a fool 
she had been to come along on this cruise! There 
was no protection, either moral or physical, in the 
presence of these other people, for they were Sabel 
Thorsen’s abject vassals and he took no pains to 
conceal that fact. He listened to their chatter, he 
amused himself with their antics, but he despised 
them, and even the women he treated with a poorly 
veiled contempt that was terrifying in its suggestive- 
156 



THE WHITE BRANT= 


ness. How weak, how futile, was the will of one 
girl against the determination of a man so strong, 
so masterful as he! And what forces he had at his 
command 1 

WTen Dell rose to go he insisted upon walking 
with her, and at the door of her stateroom he halted 
her by laying a hand upon her arm. 

She shrank visibly this time. ^Tlease! I told 
you, last night-” 

‘T fear that you do not fully appreciate the one 
invariable rule of the Gloria —the principal ship’s ar¬ 
ticle, as it were,” he said, smoothly. “It is this: 
see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. It is typified 
by those three bronze monkeys in the main cabin. 
I invite no guests except those whose discretion has 
been proven; in other words, the deaf, the dumb, 
and the blind. It means that the Gloria is the safest 
ship afloat for a careful woman. You understand?” 

“I’m very tired,” the girl protested, but Thor sen 
did not move. 

“You may rest absolutely secure in the knowledge 
that-” 

Dell interrupted him wildly: “Why don’t you 
play the game fairly? I’m doing my share; I’m 
keeping my part of the bargain.” 

“Was there a bargain?” The speaker raised his 
brows incredulously. 

“You know there was.” Thorsen’s nonchalance, 

157 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


his unhurried manner of going about this matter, 
bespoke a definiteness of purpose, a certainty of suc¬ 
cess, that was maddening; it made Dell feel like a 
toy, a prize over which he could close his hand 
whenever he chose. ^^You know why I came on this 
cruise. You promised I^d have a role at the Metro¬ 
politan if I came along and—there were no other 

conditions. You said Mrs. Rumely-’’ The 

speaker’s voice broke hoarsely. “Mrs. Rumely, a 
chaperon! ” She regained control of herself with an 
effort. “I’d sacrifice almost anything to realize my 
ambitions—almost anything. Can’t you see what it 
means to me, Mr. Thorsen? I have the voice. I’ve 
worked so hard, so long. . . . Your influence 
would-” 

“Of course I understand what it means to you or 
to any singer,” he broke in, placidly. “My influence 
is probably greater than I have led you to believe. 
Your voice is superb. Novensky’s verdict on that 
point is enough, and he declares, too, that you have 
genuine dramatic ability. A magnificent voice, the 
ability to act, and beauty such as yours are an irre¬ 
sistible combination. You are thrice blessed, my 
dear child, so why worry? Why do you continue to 
beat your foolish wings?” 

“Because I want you for a friend—not an enemy.” 

“Precisely!” Thorsen nodded and smiled. “That 
shows you have good sense—another insurance 
158 




WHITE BRANT” 

against failure. Haven’t I told you a thousand 
times, haven’t I shown you in a thousand ways, that 
I am your friend? Haven’t I promised to make you 
the most brilliant success of our times? Your enemy? 
Nonsense! Are you not the mistress of this ship? 
Are not your orders supreme? Those fools! those 
apes!” He jerked his head in the direction of the 
main cabin. ^‘Why, I’d make them walk the plank 
in their evening clothes if it would amuse you.” 

“You—have set a price upon my career that— 
that it isn’t worth. There are other roads to 
success.” 

“None whatever! I’m something of a czar and 
my nod is final. All other roads lead to failure; all 
lead back home, to the little Western town. You 
couldn’t bring yourself to that, now could you? 
You have too much fire, too much spirit, too much 
temperament to allow yourself to fail miserably, 
especially when the prize is so great and so nearly 
within your grasp. You can be a queen-” 

“Wouldn’t it be a satisfaction to perform a dis¬ 
interested action, to give a girl the chance she has 
honestly earned? And I have earned it.” 

“Without price?” 

“Without price. But with the reward of a life¬ 
long gratitude.” 

The financier pK^ndered this novel thought in some 

159 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


amusement. “I fear it would give me no satisfaction 
whatever.” 

‘‘Yet you claim to be a patron of the arts?” 

“True. No man admires the beautiful more fer¬ 
vently than do I. I worship it passionately—beauty 
of color, of tone, of proportion; beauty in marble 
and in flesh. But I have never derived the slightest 
satisfaction—that is your word—from beholding 
another’s possessions. If I like a treasure suffi¬ 
ciently to covet it, I buy it, no matter what the cost. 
Frequently I pay too much.” 

“Some things are not for sale.” 

“Those I take.” 

The girl gasped, but Thorsen quieted her with a 
slight gesture of impatience. “Can’t you see how I 
feel about this? I’m tired of buying and of taking. 
I could—well, encircle you in my arms, have my 
way with you at any time, for I’m absolute master 
here and consequences never concern me, but for 
the moment, at least, it pleases me to endure re¬ 
straint, The thought of your voluntary surrender 
vastly intrigues me. A hundred times a day the 
mere sight of you brings me a thrill. No, the bar¬ 
gain stands, for I am certain of its fulfillment.” 

“In other words, it wouldn’t stand if you thought 
you might lose.” 

“Knowing all the circumstances, all the facts, I 
cannot envisage such a thought. Good night! And 
i6o 


^THE WHITE BRANT’’ 


may your dreams be as sweet as mine.” He bowed 
and pressed his lips to Dell’s bare arm. 

With numb, shaking fingers Miss Marshall bolted 
the door of her stateroom behind her, then she col¬ 
lapsed upon the chintz-covered chair in front of her 
dresser and for a long time she sat there, strained, 
wide eyed, her hands stiffly interlocked. She knew 
the worst, at last. Sabel Thorsen had finally put 
into words that which she had more than suspected 
but had steadily refused to believe, that which she 
had desperately tried to hide from herself, and it 
left her horrified. The man was implacable, re¬ 
sistless, cruel. He was a bird of prey, an eagle. 
No, he was a hawk, that very hawk she had seen 
earlier in the day, and she was the white brant, 
circling, twisting, darting hither and yon in a vain 
effort to evade destruction. God! If only some¬ 
body would shoot him! 

Mase Garfield, for one, was not disappointed 
when, on the following morning, Sabel Thorsen sent 
word that he was again indisposed. The guide, in 
fact, made no secret of his pleasure, and he even 
hurried Dell Marshall’s departure as if fearing that 
the yacht owner might at the last moment experience 
a miraculous recovery. He was in buoyant spirits, 
was Mase; not a care was on his mind and Dell’s 
mood, so different to-day from what it had been on 

i6i 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


the morning before, had little effect upon him. He 
made himself entertaining in a hundred ways and he 
brought reluctant smiles to the girl’s face. After a 
night such as she had put in, it was pleasant to 
surrender herself to the protection of a fellow ap¬ 
parently so clean, so capable, and so crystal clear 
as he. Mase, like Thorsen, was a strong man, but 
what a contrast to the multimillionaire! Here was 
a person who positively radiated honesty of purpose 
and—^well, protection. In spite of the fact that he 
was a stranger, Dell had to struggle against a per¬ 
fectly foolish, womanly-weak desire to confide her 
troubles to him and demand his help. He had pity 
for hunted things; he had helped that white brant. 
This was hysteria, of course, and now was no time 
for panic. She banished the thought. 

It proved to be another glorious day, and the 
brant stooled in such numbers that lunch time found 
the bag limit filled. Dell could not bear to return to 
the Gloria a moment eairlier than necessary, there¬ 
fore she and Mase spent the afternoon wandering 
aimlessly among the dunes on the ocean side of the 
island, watching the surf, digging wells with clam 
shells, and molding wet sand men. As is ever the 
case when worries are deliberately laid aside, the 
hours raced by. 

They were back on the launch; the chilly dusk 
had come. Cuba was laboriously warming up the 
162 


THE WHITE BRANT= 


motor, meanwhile earnestly execrating the inventor 
of gas engines, the makers of coils, the refiners of 
gasoline. Their names were anathema to him. 
Under her breath, Dell began to hum a song, that 
being a habit of hers when she was preoccupied. As 
the motor finally began its rapid explosions and the 
craft gathered way, she raised her voice in time to 
the vibrations. 

^Tou can sing, can’t you?” Mase said, in quick 
appreciation. 

Dell came to with a start. “You bet I can.” She 
spoke with complete conviction, but quite without 
pride. 

“Would you sing something for me?” 

“Of course.” At the first full-throated note the 
helmsman straightened himself, and thereafter he 
stood rigidly, scarcely breathing. Cuba, too, was 
dumfounded; his vinegar visage softened, an un¬ 
suspected warmth of feeling shone from his bright 
eyes. 

It was the beautiful “Some Day He’ll Come” from 
“Butterfly” that Dell sang and her mood was such 
that she put perhaps more feeling into it than ever 
before. When the last note had died away Mase saw 
that she was weeping real tears and that her shoul¬ 
ders were shaking. Cuba clapped his hands ex¬ 
plosively, then, ashamed of his outburst, he crept 
into the tiny forepeak. 

163 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“That^s the best singin’ I ever heard,” Mase ac¬ 
knowledged in a voice curiously hushed. ^‘Nobody 
ever sang better than that. Why, you’re good 
enough to be in a theater.” 

^^Yes. I studied for grand opera.” 

“Are you a—a star?” 

“No.” Dell wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I 
thought I was going to be^—last night—a sudden, 
brilliant shooting star, but-” 

“You’re the shootin’est star I ever saw.” The 
guide made an effort at levity. 

“I’ll never sing in grand opera.” 

“Why not?” 

“Because—the price is too high: it’s more than I 
can pay.” 

“Pshaw! I s’posed those singers got big salaries. 
I didn’t know they had to pay.” 

“I thought so, too, but that’s all I knew about it. 
Shooting stars fall and I don’t want to be a fallen 
star.” From the tone of Dell’s voice, Mase inferred 
that new salt tears had stolen out upon her lashes. 

“That’s too bad. And your heart set on it, I 
s’pose! I figured you could afford anything, bein’ 
on Thorsen’s .yacht that way.” 

Dell spoke wretchedly: “I’m the poorest girl in 
the world. I haven’t a doUar, and what’s worse I 
haven’t a friend.” 

“Isn’t Mr. Thorsen-?” 


164 




‘THE WHITE BRANT*’ 


''Thorsen!'' The name was fairly spat forth. 

"I'm your friend/’ Mase said, gruffly. “So’s Cuby. 
I’d go to hell for you.” 

In wordless gratitude Dell laid her hand upon 
that of the speaker, nor did she resent it when his 
fingers impulsively closed over hers. She was lonely. 
Her fear of Sabel Thorsen, that terror which she had 
managed to subdue for the time being, took her by 
the throat and shook her. She was in a mood to 
derive comfort from sympathy of almost any sort 
and Mase was the kind of man who makes a good 
friend. Dell had never fully appreciated, until she 
felt his strong hand over hers, how young and virile 
he was. And he was a killer of hawks! What a 
pity it was that- 

“Seems like we’ve known each other a long, long 
time,” he was saying, under his breath. “I don’t 
take to many people like I took to you. I wish I 
could help.” 

“I wish you could.” 

“You can know some people a long time and never 
get acquainted with ’em. Others you know from the 
ground up the first time you see ’em. That’s how it 
was with you, and—I kinda feel as if that’s how 
you must of felt about me. Is it?” 

“Yes, Mase.” 

“I don’t go much on appearances. There’s Thor¬ 
sen, for instance. It ain’t money or education or fine 

165 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


manners that count, it^s character: it^s a man^s 
heart. There^s a lot worse things than—than 
marryin’ a pore man.^’ Mase met the girPs startled 
upward glance, met it unflinchingly. ^^You think 
I’m bold. Well, I am. I shoot quick and straight.” 

‘‘Are you—able to marry?” 

“Able?” Garfield smiled. “When a man’s old 
enough, he’s able enough if he’s any kind of a man. 
Yes’m. Able an’ willin’.” 

“Have you ever been in love?” 

“Not till lately. Have you?” 

Dell shook her head. “I could never marry un¬ 
less I were in love.” 

Mase nodded his approval of this sentiment. 
“What’s more,” said he, “I bet if you did care 
enough for a man it wouldn’t make much difference 
who or what he was—whether he was a yachtsman 
or—a guide. I have foolish theories like that, once 
in a while, and I like to try ’em out. Anyhow, that’s 
the only sort of a girl Fd be crazy about.” 

“I’m afraid you give me credit for more courage 
than I possess. I’m not very brave.” 

For some time they remained silent; then Mase 
said: “We’re due for a storm to-morrow. S’pose 
we go after snipe.” 

“I’m afraid the yacht will be leaving. The others 
are getting restless.” 


i66 


^^THE WHITE BRANT= 


‘Wou goin’ on to Florida with Mr. Thorsen?” 
The question was swiftly put. 

^‘No. I’m going back home, at once. I’m leaving 
at the next port.” 

^^Stay over here,” he urged, eagerly. ‘T’ll find 
you a place to stop. The snipin’ will be great, and 
it’s close to town.” 

‘T couldn’t do that. You don’t understand. Per¬ 
haps we won’t sail, after all.” 

But Sabel Thorsen put an end to any such vagrant 
hopes by paying off the guides upon their arrival 
at the yacht and by announcing that he would weigh 
anchor in the morning. 

Dell had a word alone with her shooting compan¬ 
ion when she bade him adieu. She was not offended 
when he said, earnestly, ^T’ll never forget these two 
days, miss, and I hope you’ll remember ’em, too.” 

“I will. Good-by and—good hunting, friend. 
You have taught me to shoot straight.” 

^Tt ain’t good-by. We’re goin’ to shoot together 
again, sometime. I’m goin’ after them snipe alone, 
to-morrow, for I got a lot of heavy thinkin’ to do, 
an’ I think best when I’m by myself. Remember 
this, if you want me, if you need help. I’ll hear your 
call, even if you’re in New York.” 

“Good-looking chap, that guide,” Mrs. Rumely 
said before Garfield was out of hearing. “Guides, 
my dear, are quite the smart thing lately.” 

167 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“Beats the devil the independence of these peo¬ 
ple!’’ Thorsen growled. “I offered him double pay 
and he refused it.” 

The Gloria did not sail in the morning, for a storm 
signal was flying from the “station” flag pole, the 
glass was falling, and a brisk westerly wind had 
whipped the waters of the sound to milky whiteness. 

Dell Marshall, ignorant of the portent of these 
signs, had eaten a hasty breakfast and had gone on 
deck for a last glimpse of the village. There Thor¬ 
sen found her. 

“We’re hung up here for another day at least,” 
he announced, irritably. “I wouldn’t mind a little 
pounding, but Mrs. Rumely is ill already at the mere 
prospect and her manly husband is drooping like a 
lily. Gad! I’m fed up on these Hudson River 
sailors I ” 

Dell had seen a motor boat making up the banks 
toward the snipe marsh and had waved at it. A 
sudden impulse induced her to say: 

“If that’s the case, I think I’ll take my gun and 
go ashore.” 

“Good idea,” Thorsen nodded. “It’s deadly stu¬ 
pid aboard.” 

Dell experienced a genuine thrill as she slipped 
into her hunting costume. What ailed her, anyhow, 
to feel thus at the prospect of spending another day 
with Mase? She shook her head in bewilderment at 
168 


THE WHITE BRANT= 


herself. An ignorant, uncouth guide, who scarcely 
spoke her language! She cared nothing for him, that 
was certain, for she had known him but two days. 
No, this haste, this eagerness, was prompted by a 
panicky desire to avoid contact with Thorsen, espe¬ 
cially while he was in this dangerous mood, not by 
any wish to see more of the other man. The clash 
with her host would come soon enough; this delay 
was a blessing. 

The tender was ready and waiting when she came 
out on deck, but she halted at sight of Thorsen in 
rubber boots and reefer, a shotgun over his arm. 
He observed her start of dismay and there was little 
mirth in his smile when he explained, 

“I decided to go along. Happy thought, I call it.” 

He assisted her down into the launch and seated 
himself beside her. Never until this moment had 
she appreciated how huge he was, and when they had 
cast off she would have given anything to be safely 
back aboard the Gloria, 

Thorsen did not speak until they passed close 
under the stern of the Haskins yacht, then, chal¬ 
lenged by the lines of the vessel, he said: “There’s 
a real sea boat, and Haskins is a real sailor, I believe. 
I’ll bet he doesn’t lay up for weather.” 

“Mr. Haskins appears to be a sort of sea-going 
hermit.” Dell welcomed any topic of conversation. 

169 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


^‘Don^t you yachtsmen ever call on each o±er? I 
supposed that was a part of the etiquette-” 

‘^He’s gone back North, I believe.’^ Then, after 
a moment, “Haskins a hermit! Ha! He’d be the 
last person to stand on etiquette if he knew I had 
some good-looking women aboard.” With swift, 
bold strokes Thorsen painted the character of his 
fellow yachtsman as he had heard it, and the colors 
he applied to the sketch were not pleasant. Noting 
his hearer’s expression when he had finished, he 
smiled broadly. “Poor child! Another dream shat¬ 
tered, eh? We idle men are pretty much all alike, 
my dear. There’s this difference between Haskins 
and me, of course: he inherited his money, I made 
mine. But we both spend it in about the same way. 
You’ll discover that when you become a great star 
and meet the people whose names you see in the 
society columns. Fellows like he never taste the full 
fruit of their blessings, for they lack patience, they 
don’t know how to endure repression. They gulp 
their wine; I sip mine.” 

“I think I shall avoid that set if they’re all like 
Mr. Haskins.” 

“My dear child, you are provincial, narrow, 
Presbyterian. Great artists cannot be Puritans. 
And you are going to be a great artist.” The 
speaker laid his thick, muscular white hand upon 
Dell’s knee and her apparent acceptance of his last 
170 



THE WHITE BRANT= 


confident assertion did much to improve his temper. 
He became more genial; when they quitted the ten¬ 
der and walked up the beach he was in quite a pleas¬ 
ant mood. 

Oddly enough, the girl experienced a somewhat 
similar metamorphosis. Her courage sprouted in the 
sunshine, the wind whipped it into leaf. What had 
she to fear from this or any other man, she asked 
herself? Her life was her own; no Sabel Thorsen 
had power to mold it to his purposes. When the 
Gloria had docked at Beaufort she would tell him 
her decision and he would scarcely dare try to pre¬ 
vent her leaving. If that made of him an active 
enemy, so much the worse for her immediate pros¬ 
pects, but—the total wreck of her career, if it came 
to that, was better than acceptance of his aid, in view 
of what went with it. She felt quite calm as she 
loaded her twenty-gauge. 

The English snipe had arrived in large numbers. 
They got up from every bog hole, from every little 
meadow between the patches of high salt grass, but 
they were hard to hit in this wind. From over near 
the distant fringe of bay and live oak next to the 
sand dunes came the report of another gun, prob¬ 
ably Mase’s, so Dell headed in that direction. 

Sabel Thorsen, on his part, had little luck with 
the darting birds, and his heavy weight made the 
walking hard for him: he lunged and wallowed; he 
171 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

was red of face and short of breath when they finally 
came out upon firmer footing. 

“That’s quite a pull,” he confessed, and, seating 
himself upon a soft, dry bed of bent grasses, he 
wiped his wet face. Out here in the open the mighty 
financier, the elegant, was just an awkward, inept, 
clumsy man, and Dell experienced a mild feeling of 
superiority over him. She was smoothing the 
feathers of the birds she had killed and chatting 
absent-mindedly with him when she was startled to 
hear him say: 

“The Gloria is an able boat and we can save a 
day by going outside.” 

“Don’t you intend to stop at Beaufort?” she in¬ 
quired. 

Thorsen shook his head. “I’m eager to get south, 
into the palms and the orange blossoms. You’ll 
love it-” 

“I am not going any farther. I am going to leave 
the Gloria here.” 

“What?” Thorsen looked up quickly. 

“I have decided to go home. There is a mail boat 
that runs across to the mainland.” 

There was a momentary silence; then the man 
spoke harshly: “So—you’ve changed your mind. 
You’ve weakened.” 

“No. My mind is exactly as it was.” 

“Um-m! I suspected as much. That’s why I 
172 



“THE WHITE BRANT” 


came ashore with you. You are quite^—set? You 
realize, do you, what you are throwing away? You 
are closing the door on your career; it’s the end of 
you, artistically.” 

“So you declare. That remains to be seen.” 

“I’ve reached the end of my patience,” he said, 
rising slowly. Dell rose with him. “I’ve sipped my 
wine long enough. I’m thirsty.” 

“What do you mean? You can’t-” 

“You poor little fool. Don’t you suppose I fore¬ 
saw something of this sort? You’re not going home. 
You’re going to stay with me as long as I wish you 
to stay. I have my own way of dealing with 
quitters.” 

Thor sen’s anger struck fire, and Dell answered 
with a heat equal to his, “We part company, here 
and now!” Her face was white. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

A sudden fury flamed in the man’s eyes, but at his 
first movement Dell uttered a cry of warning and 
snatched her gun from where it stood. In spite of 
his size, Thorsen was catlike in his quickness; his 
hand closed over the barrels as she raised them. For 
an instant, they tugged at the weapon, Dell strug¬ 
gling weakly against his vastly superior strength; 
then she let go her hold and fled. 

With an oath, he made after her, and at sound of 
his pursuit, her courage turned to terror. In spite 

173 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of her painic, however, she retained sufficient pres¬ 
ence of mind to direct her feet back into the marsh. 
Out across the wet, spongy ground she fled, running 
like a fav/n, and the ruse gained time for her. Thor- 
sen’s boots sank beneath him, he plunged, he floun¬ 
dered. Neither of them could go rapidly, of course, 
and, despite the fact that Dell opened a considerable 
space between them, Thorsen’s bullock vigor over¬ 
came much of his handicap and after the first dash 
she could not appreciably widen her first advantage. 

There had been no opportunity to choose the 
direction of her flight, and Dell realized that she 
was heading up the island, away from town. The 
marsh opened up before her, a mile-long waste, de¬ 
void of life except for a few head of half-wild cattle. 
She remembered the echo of that distant gun, Mase 
Garfield’s gun, and she began to call his name in a 
wild, strangled voice. 

It was hard running in her rubber boots; soon the 
breath left her lungs. It was necessary to double 
and twist and turn between the fields of high marsh 
grass, for, once entangled in that, she knew she 
would be like a bird enmeshed. 

Thorsen slipped and fell. She looked back in 
time to see him spring to his feet, muddy, dripping. 
He was cursing. On he came like some monster 
risen from the ooze. 

He ceased running, finally, and fell into a swift, 

174 


WHITE BRANT^^ 


long-striding walk. Between his labored breaths he 
laughed mockingly, for Dell had come out upon one 
of those wide black creeks that wound blindly 
through the marsh and she had been forced to turn 
back toward higher ground. She was dismayed, 
confused. Her pursuer altered his course so as to 
head her off. 

‘‘Mase! she was crying. “Mase! 

Thorsen ran her down, cut off her retreat. He 
approached her slowly where she stood at bay, sav¬ 
ing his breath for the effort of dashing in and seizing 
her as a hunter seizes a wing-broken snipe. It 
seemed to Dell that she was dying, that she had run 
until her heart had burst. Thorsen was muttering 
profanely, but she could not hear what it was he 
said because of the roaring in her ears. 

He was almost upon her when an amazing thing 
occurred. Before her eyes the tall marsh grass 
through which he plowed was suddenly whipped as 
by a driving gust of hail. Dell heard the whistling 
particles cut through the spiny tops, heard them 
shower upon Thorsen’s body, heard him yell in sud¬ 
den fright and pain. With his cry came the loud 
reverberation of a shotgun. 

The millionaire had been stricken. A thousand 
hornets had stung him simultaneously, and the shock 
of their poison rocked him in his tracks. He clawed 
wildly at his chest, his arms, his body; he shouted 
175 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

again, hoarse with rage and anguish; he bellowed 
curses. 

‘^HelloR’ came a startled cry. There was a crash¬ 
ing among the bushes to Dell’s left, then over the 
tops of the billowing marsh growth she saw a fa¬ 
miliar cap of gray mackinaw. She sank weakly to 
her knees, her eyes closed, her body sagged limply, 
while the world spun round and round in dizzy, 
sickening gyrations. 

Dell Marshall did not faint, nevertheless it 
seemed like a long time before she could understand 
what was being said. 

“That’ll be about all of that talk.” Mase Gar¬ 
field was speaking in a voice altogether new to her. 
“I’ve apologized once, which is right often for me.” 

“Damn your apologies! I’ll get you for this,” 
Thorsen shouted. 

“You’ll get nobody. Accidents will happen. How 
d’you s’pose I could see through that brush?” 

“Is he badly hurt?” Dell inquired. She stag¬ 
gered to her feet, to see that Thorsen’s coat was off, 
that his shirt had been ripped open, exposing his 
bulging, hairy chest and one naked arm. His white 
skin was pock-marked, spattered with tiny wounds 
from each one of which ran a thin trickle of red; 
his throat, his cheek was smeared with blood. 

Mase looked up at her and nodded. “He’s hurt 
bad enough to see a doctor. If it was me, I’d pick 
176 


‘^THE WHITE BRANT’^ 


^em out with a pocket knife—they ain’t more’n a 
quarter of an inch deep^—but rich folks get blood 
poisonin’ easy-” 

‘^God! I’m in agony!” the millionaire groaned 
through twitching lips. 

“Them number eights is hot, all right, an’ there’s 
enough of ’em to fill a hip boot, but our ole Doc is 
used to diggin’ ’em out of green sportsmen. My 
skiff’s right here in the creek an’ I’ll have you back 
to town before you know it.” Mase rearranged 
Thorsen’s shirt and flung the coat over his shoulders. 
“Unfortunate, that snipe gettin’ up right in line. 
Wouldn’t happen once in a thousan’ times. But 
you’re lucky, at that, Mr. Thorsen. It might of put 
your eyes out.” 

“Sympathetic, aren’t you? Well, it won’t prove 
a lucky day for you, my fine fellow. I’ll have you 
in jail before night.” 

“Too bad, but we ’ain’t got any jail on the island.” 
Mase grinned. “It’s one of the modern conveniences 
we poor people have to do without. You see, we 
have so few strangers it don’t hardly pay to keep 
one up.” 

“It was criminal carelessness,” Thorsen growled 
as he followed in the wake of the guide. “I’m not 
sure that you didn’t do it purposely.” 

“Yeah?” Mase lifted Dell into the skiff, then he 
bent to the motor, leaving his victim to clamber 
177 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


overside unassisted. “If I shot you apurpose how 
come I didn^t give you the whole load? You ain’t 
easy missed.” 

It was a half hour later. Mase’s launch lay 
beached in the little harbor at the village; he and 
Thor sen were in the doctor’s house. Dell had prof¬ 
fered her aid, but the yachtsman had gruffly declined 
it, so now, finding it impossible to sit still, she wan¬ 
dered up the sandy road that served as a main street. 
The town itself was sprawled loosely around and 
about a high, white lighthouse; the weatherbeaten 
dwellings were set down at random amid luxuriant 
growths of cedar and of fragrant bay bushes, through 
which meandered many paths and crooked road¬ 
ways. The water’s edge was lined with net racks 
and fishing gear; from the decoy pens came a cease¬ 
less quacking of ducks and honking of geese. 

Dell came to a store upon the square front of 
which was painted, “Amasa Garfield. General 
Merchandise.” Curiously, she entered. So Mase 
was more than a guide; he was a merchant as well. 
It was a clean place and amply stocked; it was 
pleasantly redolent of the mixed odors of such a 
place. A young man was busied at a pair of scales 
in the rear. 

Dell sighed wearily and sank upon a bench near 
the door. Here was sanctuary. Mase would find 
her here and tell her what was best to do. She was 
178 


WHITE BRANT’^ 


still badly shaken, and Thorsen was still to be reck¬ 
oned with. When the clerk came to wait upon her, 
she said: 

“I’ll just sit here until Mr. Garfield comes, if you 
don’t mind.” 

“You’ll have a right smart wait,” the youth told 
her, with a friendly grin. “Mase is sick abed; been 
laid up more’n a week with lumbago.” 

“Then it’s his son—Mase, junior.” 

“Ain’t but one Mase Garfield I ever heard of.” 

“Why—how queer! He’s been guiding me-” 

“Oh! Prob’ly Mase got one o’ the boys to take 
his place. He’s the best gunner on the island an’ 
ever’body insists on hirin’ him. We got some good 
guides here.” 

After a time Dell rose again—she was too nervous 
to remain inactive^—and she was pacing back and 
forth near the doctor’s house when the man she 
knew as Mase came out. He strode swiftly to her 
and began: 

“I saw you dodgin’ him and heard you call. 
Thank God I got there in time, like I told you I 
would! Now we’re goin’ to move quick ’cause 
you’re through with that buzzard.” He took her by 
the arm and hurried her toward his skiff. 

“I refused to go any farther with him; told him 
I intended to stop here. That’s why—that’s 

how-” The girl’s voice broke. “Oh, I’m glad 

179 




BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

you were near!’’ They were in the boat now and 
leaving the shore. 

“He’s breathin’ vengeance and snortin’ fire. 
Every time ole Doc digs into him he invents a new 
punishment for me.” 

“He’s a dreadful man. He has a way of doing 
things-” 

Mase laughed shortly, confidently. “Me, too. I 
got my way of doin’ things. He thinks he’s a rough 
guy—^got hobnails in his boots. Yeah! But say, 
he don’t know how rough a guy can get!” There 
was something so positive, so belligerent, so trium¬ 
phant, in the speaker’s voice that Dell looked at him 
in surprise. This was a new Mase. 

“Where are we going? Where are you taking 
me?” she queried. 

Garfield was staring inshore, toward the doctor’s 
house; a gloating triumph curled his lips. When he 
turned, she saw that his eyes were gleaming, that 
there was a steely glitter in their depths. “I’m tak¬ 
ing you home—to my home,” he declared. “I said 
we’d shoot together, again: I said it wasn’t ‘good- 
by.’ Well, it wasn’t. You’ve seen the last of that 
bird.” Again he flung a glance over his shoulder. 

Dell Marshall noted for the first time the course 
the launch had taken. It was headed away from 
shore and it bore directly toward that other yacht. 
She understood now—saw everything, and the truth 
i8o 



“THE WHITE BRANT” 

brought her to her feet with a smothered cry. “So! ” 
She met the man’s startled gaze and spoke bitterly 
“You—saved the white brant for yourself, Mr. 
Haskins!” 

“I did. How did you-? HereT Van Has¬ 

kins dropped the tiller and lunged forward barely 
in time to seize his passenger before she leaped over¬ 
board. “What the devil-?” He spoke harshly; 

he held her firmly, despite her struggles; his face, 
too, had gone white. 

“Let me go! ” With her free hand she beat at him 
furiously. “What do you think I am? O God! 
How I hate you!” 

“Are you crazy? Listen to me.” He shook her 
roughly. The skiff had fallen off; with his foot he 
thrust the tiller over and straightened the course. 

^^You —a killer of hawks! You’re a hawk your¬ 
self. I know all about you.” Dell continued to 
writhe in his grasp. “Let me go.” 

Haskins’s face was set in a scowl. If anything, 
he tightened the grip with which he held his prisoner. 
“Not until you’ve heard what I have to say. It was 
a dirty trick, masquerading as I did, but I was bored 
—thought it would be good fun to get aboard the 
Gloria. Thorsen always has a shipload of pretty 
women and I hadn’t seen one for weeks. Hathaway, 
he’s my factory superintendent—he didn’t want to 
do it, but I made him play Cuba.” 

i8i 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


^Tretty women! Of course. Mr. Thorsen told 
me exactly what you are.” 

^‘Oh, did he? How does he know?” 

“You posed as a real man; you lied to me. All the 
time you were planning to rob him of his prey. Let 
me go.” 

“I’ll never let you go. Hathaway says I’m mad 
and I ought to see a doctor. So I am, thank God! 
and—a doctor might cure me.” 

Dell uttered a moan and buried her face in her 
hands. More gently he said: “You called me and I 
came to you. I’ll always come at your call. Why 
are you afraid?” 

For a second time she asked him, “Where are you 
taking me?” 

“Home. New York. We sail in ten minutes.” 

“And then?” 

“Uptown—to the shops, where you’ll probably 
want to buy-” 

“And after that?” 

“Why, to the Little Church Around the Corner. 
Where else?” 

“Then you’re not—? Oh, Van! Van!” The 
girl swayed forward and hid her wet face against 
his bosom. With a yearning cry he closed his arms 
about her. 

“My dear,” he said, huskily, “something tells me 
that I owe Thorsen the left barrel for the reputation 
182 


‘THE WHITE BRANT= 


he gave me, but you should have known better. 
I’m not a bird of prey.” 

Mr. Eldon Hathaway leaned over the rail of the 
Haskins yacht and offered a sarcastic suggestion to 
its owner. 

“Hey, Van!” he called. “If you really want to 
come aboard let me know and the next circle you 
make I’ll heave you a line.” 

Van raised his face from its concealment in Dell 
Marshall’s disordered hair; with an inclination of the 
head he smiled: “That’s Cuby. He’s queer, and 
we’ll have to make allowances for him.” 


183 



RECOIL 



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RECOIL 


O N his way uptown from the pier where the 
South American liner had docked, Gordon 
Kent stopped his taxicab to buy himself a felt hat. 
This done, he drove a hard, brown fist through the 
crown of his eighty-dollar Panama. When he had 
arrived at his hotel he removed his pongee suit, 
rolled it up, together with all the warm-weather 
clothing in his trunk, and presented the bundle to a 
bell boy. He was fed up on all things tropical, all 
things Spanish. 

That night he dined extravagantly at the most 
expensive eating place in New York, saw the 
“Follies'^ from the center of the front row, and later 
took a table at a popular dancing cafe. He did not 
dance, for the new dances and even the new music 
were strange to him; he spoke to nobody except his 
waiter; nevertheless he was drunk with pleasure 
when he went to bed, about two o’clock. He would 
have stayed longer, but a swarthy man and a dark¬ 
haired girl had begun some sort of tango and that 
had caused him to flee. 


187 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

As a man, Kent was forty-five years old; as a 
social animal his age was about twenty-two, for, 
following his graduation as a mining engineer, he 
had gone West, and soon thereafter he had been sent 
on to South America. There, for more than twenty 
years, he had remained—not steadily, of course, for 
as he worked his way up into control of the property, 
necessity had taken him north to the States and even 
across to the Continent. But those occasional trips 
had been hurried, they had been all business; invari¬ 
ably he had been called back to the mines earlier 
than he had expected. 

By all the rules of precedent he should have be¬ 
come Latin-American in his likings, he should have 
married some Peruvian woman and adopted South 
America as his home. But nothing like that hap¬ 
pened. He had learned to adapt, but not to adopt. 
Spanish women bored him, Spanish customs irked 
him, Spanish cooking turned his stomach. He re¬ 
mained a thorough Yankee and but one ambition 
burned within him—namely, the ambition to go 
home with the leisure and the means to make up for 
the twenty years he had wasted. 

He had attained that goal. His means were large, 
his leisure was unlimited. Physically he was 
young. His first concern was to find a suitable 
dwelling place. 

His requirements in this were peculiar; there- 
i88 


RECOIL 


fore he sought counsel from one of his few friends, 
William Sothern. Sothern, head of the great inter¬ 
national detective agency that bore his name, was 
himself a detective, but not the detective of fiction. 
He was a smiling man of sixty, inordinately proud 
of his small feet and hands, and he possessed the 
blessed knack of inspiring friendship. Men great 
and men obscure called him ‘‘Bill” and came to him 
for advice upon matters ranging in importance from 
world politics to divorce. Success had made of him 
less a thief-taker than a man-helper. 

“YouVe steered many an ex-convict straight,” 
Kent told him. “I want you to steer me, for IVe 
just done a twenty-year stretch. I’m free, at last. 
I want you to help me live forty years in the next 
twenty.” 

Sothern laughed. “A man with your physique 
and your money can live forty years in ten, if he 
sets his mind to it.” 

“I have set my mind to it.” Kent’s square jaw 
was aggressively outthrust; his deep set eyes were 
eager. “All my life I’ve wanted to play, to be 
amused, to liye, and I’ve never had the chance. I’ve 
always craved luxury, laughter, lights, the blare of 
brass, but I’ve had to live in lonely places. I’m fed 
up on garlic and mandolin music and the flare of 
fireflies. I want noise and smoke and jazz and 
gasoline and white shoulders.” 

189 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“You’ve hit the right place.” 

“Coming downtown fehis morning I took the sub¬ 
way so as to be squeezed in the crowd and feel 
elbows in my ribs. I loved it.” 

“How can I help?” Sothern regarded his caller 
curiously. Kent was a grim, homely, rugged man. 
He had a reputation for ruthlessness. 

“You can help me find a home right in the noise, 
right where the street cars clang and the Elevated 
roars, and the newsboys yell—right where the city 
wili^lalk to me day and night.” 

“No trouble about that, Gordon.” 

“And you can help me get acquainted with people 
who play. Twenty years. Bill! Every hour counts. 
I’m eager to begin. Do you think I’m a fool?” 

“Most men make fools of themselves when they 
begin living in pajamas and evening clothes. But 
you’re too hard-headed to be seriously injured—and, 
after all, somebody must play the fool and pay for 
our white lights. Let’s go to lunch.” 

“Gladly,” said Kent. “But no olive oil or onions, 
understand?” 

Kent took an apartment on the busiest corner he 
could find—a corner in the hotel and theater dis¬ 
trict, where the traffic boiled by day and where the 
sky line blazed by night. Huge, winking electric 
signs glared into his windows, his home floated upon 
a sea of sound. There, with bedlam beneath his feet, 
190 


RECOIL 


peace came to his soul. He reveled in his nearness 
to things, he slept like a babe. He was lonesome no 
longer, for he walked with Joy. Money ran from 
him and each night brought new adventure. Broad¬ 
way opened her arms and took him as her own; he 
lay upon her throbbing heart. 

He did not dissipate unduly, he merely played as 
men play, seeking pleasure with the same eagerness 
of purpose he had sought success. He made ac¬ 
quaintances recklessly, for he took people at their 
own appraisals so long as they amused him. He 
entertained lavishly, keeping an open house; and ail 
the introduction anybody needed was a ready laugh, 
a song, a story, or a blithesome spirit. Mining men 
from out of town, Wall Street men, men from the 
clubs, the theaters, met at his home. And women 
from here and there. Most of the women were 
young and good looking and some of them were 
clever. 

Bill Sothern dropped in one night after a late 
supper to find a score or more people entertaining 
themselves at Rentes expense. A team of head¬ 
liners from vaudeville were at the grand piano, 
Kent’s Chinese house boys were serving drinks. It 
was a noisy party, but the least hilarious member of 
it was the host. He was genial, but he held himself 
aloof, and Sothern inquired: 

191 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

^‘What^s the matter? Is the gilded life beginning 
to pall?’’ 

“Not a bit of it,” Kent told him, “but I don’t 
quite fit in yet. I’m rough and awkward and—too 
intense. I’m afraid to let go.” 

“That’s not your reputation. Indulgent Pitts¬ 
burgh never sent us a spender with less restraint.” 

“Why shouldn’t I spend? I’ve no reason for 
saving.” 

“You seem glad of it.” 

“I am. Don’t you understand? I’m free. I’m 
the only free man in New York, and my folly in¬ 
jures nobody.” 

“You may not find it easy to remain free. South 
American millionaires don’t happen every day.” 

“Marriage?” Kent laughed and shook his shaggy 
head. “If I went into ^society,’ if this were a Park 
Avenue crowd and I had mothers to deal with, there 
might be some danger of that. But none of these 
girls have mothers. They’re lovely, amusing, obvi¬ 
ous little creatures, and any one of them would pawn 
her last limousine to land me. Blackmail, perhaps, 
but marriage—never.” 

Sothern nodded. “You can afford blackmail. 
Marriage would cost you too dear.” 

Broadway, as far north as the Circle, was Kent’s 
playground at first, but in time he went afield—down 
to Washington Square, and up into the duplex apart- 
192 


RECOIL 


ment district. Greenwich Village bored him, for he 
was too genuinely Bohemian to be deceived by an 
artificial assumption of Bohemianism; mediocrity 
masquerading under the eccentricities of genius was 
not even amusing, so he drifted northward. 

One night he attended a party given by a Cali¬ 
fornia acquaintance who was spending the ydnter in 
New York. It was quite an elaborate affair, given in 
one of those twelve-room studio apartments near the 
Park; among the guests were a number of people 
who had done things—bankers, sportsmen, writers, 
painters, musicians—nevertheless, it was an informal 
party and the guests felt free to introduce themselves 
to one another. 

Rentes attention upon entering the room was at¬ 
tracted by a good-looking blond woman. Invari¬ 
ably blond women drew his eyes, for he could see no 
beauty in brimettes. This young woman was very 
blond and the more he looked at her the more he 
marveled that others did not appear to share his 
enthusiastic appreciation of her charms. It seemed 
strange that she excited no more attention than she 
did, for to him she was strikingly beautiful. Drawn, 
no doubt, by the intensity of his regard, she looked 
at him and he experienced a genuine thrill. He had 
a drink with his host and asked who she was, but 
the latter did not know—he never remembered 

193 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


names; probably she was a friend of somebody he 
had invited. 

Kent managed, by and by, to speak to the 
woman, and again he was thrilled when she answered 
him pleasantly and without the slightest constraint. 
She regarded him with sudden interest when he 
introduced himself; then she made herself known, 
Her name was Selbee. He liked the sound of that, 
and when he said something to provoke a smile he 
made the amazing discovery that there were two 
deep dimples in her cheeks. He was put completely 
at ease upon learning that she was not particularly 
brilliant—he had feared she might be one of those 
women who ‘^did things’^; an author or an artist 
of some sort—and he got along famously with her. 

After a while they found a comfortable couch on 
the balcony above the crowd, and soon Kent made 
still another amazing discovery—he discovered that 
he was a voluble, a brilliant, and an entertaining 
conversationalist. For the first time in his life he 
was all that he had ever longed to be. 

They danced together, and the man experienced a 
tremendous, breath-taking exhilaration at feeling 
this lovely milk-and-honey creature in his embrace. 
Physical contact galvanized him and there was an 
intoxicating perfume to her hair. Her evident en¬ 
joyment of his society bred in him a Godlike 
confidence. 


194 


RECOIL 


Prohibition had come, hence there was more than 
the usual amount of drinking, and Kent did his 
share, but he found less intoxication in his glass than 
in the contemplation of Norma Selbee^s ash-blond 
hair, curling above her smooth neck, and in those 
adorable dimples that answered so swiftly to his 
smiles. 

As for Miss Selbee, she did no great amount of 
talking. There was no need to do so, for she pos¬ 
sessed the rare knack of giving interested attention. 
When finally it became evident to her that this 
Broadway notable, this South American Croesus, 
was actually wooing her with tempestuous fervor, 
she became almost reticent and began to study him 
with troubled, speculative eyes. 

He told her of his Andean experiences, of his 
twenty years of exile—matters he seldom mentioned, 
and by the time they went in to supper she knew 
him almost better than he knew himself. 

Later that night he asked her to marry him. She 
had told herself that something like this was coming 
and she had tried to stop it, but the man^s force of 
will had defeated her; despite her efforts to hold 
him in check, he had swept her along on the flood 
of his desire. Even so, his declaration of love came 
as a shock that left her speechless, white. She 
stared at him almost fearfully, before murmuring: 

^‘You—scarcely know me.” 

195 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“True. But I know you well enough to want 
you.” 

“YouVe told me all about yourself—not that it 
was necessary, for everybody knows something 
about Gordon Kent—but I^m not a public character. 
I’m—nobody.” 

‘^Thank Heaven for that! I love you.” 

^To-night, perhaps! But to-morrow? Next 
month? A year from now?” 

“I’m not a child,” Kent declared, almost roughly. 
“I haven’t looked for love—never expected it—but 
it came, and I don’t propose to let it go.” 

“Men don’t marry women like this,” she protested, 
with more agitation than she had yet displayed. 
“They want to know who they are, what they are, 
all about—everything. I’m no child, either. You’re 
not the first man who—the first to ask me something 
like this.” Kent nodded impatiently. “What makes 
you think I love you?” 

“I haven’t asked if you love me. I love you. 
That’s enough for me. That’s all I can grasp at the 
moment. It’s a good deal to happen in one night; 
it’s a good deal to think about.” 

“No, no!” She shook her head. “You wouldn’t 
buy a mine this way; risk everything you have-” 

“Indeed I would. I did. I always do. I move 
fast and I trust my hunches. Listen. I’m rich, I 
can give you everything. And I will.” 

196 



RECOIL 

Miss Selbee halted him with a gesture. “I 
know-” 

course I^m not the first man. YouVe beau¬ 
tiful, you Ye desirable. How could I be the first? 
The miracle is that you’re here at all, and free. To 
hell with who you are, where you came from, or 
what you’ve done. I’ll take my chances if you’ll 
take yours. We can’t live the past over again, but 
the future is ours and it’s all we’re entitled to. I’m 
not much. I’m full of faults, but—I know the 
woman I want. Will you marry me?” 

^^Socnetime, perhaps.” 

^^To-night!” 

Miss Selbee uttered a strangled refusal, but Kent 
took her cold hands in his and forced her to meet 
his gaze. For what seemed a long time she sat mo¬ 
tionless, her eyes searching his with a curious ex¬ 
pression of mingled apprehension and desire. She 
stirred finally. She sighed wearily, her lids fluttered, 
lowered. 

‘^Come!” he said and drew her to her feet. ‘‘My 
car is waiting. Do you want to tell your friends, or 
bring them along?” She shook her head. 

Like a person under a mesmeric spell she took his 
arm; mutely she waited while he brought her wrap 
and placed it about her snowy shoulders. Kent, too, 
was deeply agitated; he could find nothing to say; 
so in silence they went down in the elevator and out 
197 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

to his automobile. But when the car door had closed 
behind them and they were alone, he drew her close 
and kissed her. 

The unexpected gentleness of his first caress 
snapped the woman’s rigidity, her body relaxed, 
and with a quivering sigh she surrendered herself 
to his embrace. Her soft lips, the fragrance of her 
breath, made a drunken man of Gordon Kent. 

The midnight marriage of Gordon Kent and 
Norma Selbee excited little comment, for almost 
before it became public they had sailed for Europe, 
and so even those newspapers that specialize in sen¬ 
sational copy found little to report beyond the bare 
facts. They carried a highly colored story of Kent’s 
career, to be sure, but they could learn almost noth¬ 
ing about the bride, therefore they described her as 
a beautiful society girl and ran the picture of an 
obscure motion-picture actress. 

The ship upon which the honeymooners sailed was 
several days out before Gordon Kent felt well enough 
acquainted with his wife to call her by her first name, 
but by the time they had tarried a while in London, 
had shopped in Paris, had toured the chateau dis¬ 
trict, and had arrived at Alexandria en route up the 
Nile, he had run the entire gamut of emotions from 
infatuated lover to gentle and considerate husband. 
He proved to be a generous husband, too, and he 
198 


RECOIL 


took enormous delight in showering expensive gifts 
upon his wife. Her extravagances amused him and 
he never quarreled with her bills. Lacking any sort 
of taste in women^s clothes, his part in the selection 
of hats and gowns and such things was confined to 
an enthusiastic admiration of her judgment. But 
he gave her carte blanche and, as a matter of fact, he 
urged her to spend more money upon herself than 
she was inclined to spend, for her beauty was a 
never-failing source of wonderment and pride to him 
and he could not understand why others did not 
worship her as he did. 

The selection of her jewelry, however, he took 
into his own hands, and before long Mrs. Gordon 
Kent’s gems became a topic of conversation wher¬ 
ever she went. 

They settled in Cairo for the winter, entertained 
lavishly, and went out a good deal. Their apart¬ 
ment at the most famous hotel became a headquar¬ 
ters for visiting Americans and members of the resi¬ 
dent English colony. 

Norma Kent rose to the requirements of her new 
position very creditably indeed. Not only did she 
scrupulously observe the niceties of dress and de¬ 
portment, but also she made a new man of her hus¬ 
band, externally at least. Of course Kent was too 
old, too firmly set in his mold, to change greatly, 
and at heart he remained the massive, passive man 
199 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


of restraint, but he took on more geniality, more 
polish, and they made a distinguished couple; the 
husband dominant, strong, commanding; the wife 
winsome, gracious, and alive with youth. 

Kent lived by a code of his own which was in¬ 
flexible, and, remembering the words he had uttered 
that night during his whirlwind courtship, he never 
asked Norma any questions about herself. He 
knew, vaguely, that her past life had been unhappy, 
but he adhered to his promise and respected her evi¬ 
dent desire to forget. He sometimes wished that she 
would tell him something about her former husband, 
Selbee; what sort of man he was and the reason for 
her divorce, but since the subject was painful and 
inasmuch as his prime object in life was to spare her 
pain, he never voiced his curiosity. After all, it 
was none of his business and he was not a Paul Pry. 
The future was rich enough in its possibilities for 
happiness. 

In one thing, however, he acknowledged that 
Norma disappointed him a trifle; that was in her 
complete, her immediate, nay, her enthusiastic 
adaptability to foreign life. She it was who had 
suggested this trip abroad, although he would have 
greatly preferred a hone5anoon at home, and now 
it seemed to him that she actually preferred living 
here, or in Europe, to living in the States. This 
was not at all in accordance with his desires; in fact, 
200 


RECOIL 


he was already hungry for his native land and look¬ 
ing forward eagerly to their return. Still, that was 
so small a thing that it gave him no serious concern. 

It was only natural that two people so opposite in 
tastes should make separate friends. Kent tried his 
best to like the people his wife liked, and when he 
failed he forced himself to tolerate them. Among 
these latter was a young American of French-Irish 
ancestry, one Laurence Regan Marchmont. March- 
mont was about everything that Kent was not; he 
was handsome, young, entertaining, and witty. He 
was elegant of figure, he was chivalrous of bearing 
and soft of speech; in his dark eyes glowed a light 
of deviltry quite thrilling to women. It was rumored 
about the hotel that he was somehow connected with 
a title. Of this fellow the mining man would have 
been mildly jealous had it not been for his implicit 
faith in Norma. He told himself impatiently that 
envy prompted his dislike, and it was characteristic 
of him that thereafter he set himself the task of 
being especially nice to the fellow and on more than 
one occasion he arranged for Marchmont to act as 
Normals escort. 

Long before the end of the season Kent acknowl¬ 
edged himself bored by Egypt. Norma, on the con¬ 
trary, loved it. Her friends were adorable, the 
weather was perfect—when she spoke of New York 
it was without enthusiasm. 


201 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


The last few weeks of their stay was immeasurably 
cheered, for the husband, by the arrival of William 
Sothern. Bill was dodging the cold and the wet 
and he had his golf bag, so he and Gordon spent 
most of their time together. In the detective’s com¬ 
pany, Kent found so much enjo5nnent that he sur¬ 
rendered his wife more than ever to the care of 
Marchmont. 

Accommodations had been arranged. It was a 
week before sailing time when the blow fell. 

Kent and Sothern had dined together at the Coun¬ 
try Club, and, insasmuch as Norma and March¬ 
mont were playing bridge at the home of some Eng¬ 
lish friends, it was nearly midnight when the two 
men returned to the hotel. 

Sothern watched his companion mount the wide 
stairs to the mezzanine floor, then he lit a final 
cigar and took a turn through the Winter Garden. 
He had finished his smoke and was on his way to 
his own room when he saw Gordon Kent coming 
down the stairs again. Kent descended heavily; his 
face was colorless and drawn; in his hand he held 
something white, a letter. 

Sothern stepped swiftly to him, saying, sharply: 

‘What is it, old man? Something bad?” 

Kent nodded. When he spoke it was in a feeble 
far away voice. “I was looking for you. Read 
that!” 


202 


RECOIL 


Sothern took the letter and read: 

Dear Gordon, —I can’t stand it any longer. I tried, but 
it was useless. It was just another mistake. You’ve been 
kind and I hate to hurt you, but, after all, I couldn’t give 
what I never had. There was no promise of love when I 
married you—scarcely a pretence on my part—and now 
I’ve learned what love is, what it must be, so I’m going 
away. Please don’t look for me. 

Norma, 

Kent was talking. ‘T tiptoed in so as not to 
awaken her, but I knew something was wrong— 
things scattered around—lights burning. It gave me 
a fright—I thought she was sick.’^ 

Sothern inquired, sharply, “Did she take her 
jewelry?’^ 

“Yes.” 

“Any money?” 

Kent shook his head. “She’s gone. Bill. Gone! 
I’m all—alone again. Sudden, wasn’t it?” 

The detective cursed savagely. “It wasn’t sud¬ 
den; you just didn’t see it coming. I wanted to warn 
you, but I hoped— Of course it’s Marchmont.” 

“Marchmontl Marchmont! By God-!” 

“Sh-h! Not so loud. Pull yourself together. It’s 
going to be all right.” Sothern led his friend out of 
the hotel into the night. 

For a long while the two men trudged the streets, 
and after the first stunning effect of the catastrophe 
203 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


had passed it was Kent who did most of the talking. 
He tried to make excuses for his wife’s conduct. 
There were reasons—she was young and the wine 
of life was sharp within her; she was impulsive, 
emotional, as a woman should be; he was old and 
harsh and uninteresting; he had deceived her, in a 
way, by making her think he loved excitement and 
variety when, as a matter of fact, he was stupidly 
quiet and conventional. 

Sothern listened without comment. 

But when Kent began to realize more clearly the 
cruel advantage Norma had taken of his simple de¬ 
votion, grief hardened into anger. 

^T’ll get ’em!” he cried, hoarsely. “The world’s 
a little place and I’ve got nothing to do but get even. 
I’ll find ’em, somehow, somewhere.” 

“If you really want to find them, it will be easy,” 
Sothern told him. “I’ll have them located in a 
week.” 

“You think so?” ■ 

“I know so. There aren’t a half dozen places 
where they could or would go. It won’t take me 
long to find where Marchmont is. To find out who 
he is, of course, will require a little patience.” 

“ *Who he is’? You can learn that at the hotel.” 

“Perhaps. On the other hand, men don’t always 
tell the whole truth about themselves. Or women, 
204 


RECOIL 

either. How much do you know about your wife, 
for instance?” 

“What d^ou mean by that?” 

“You knew nothing about her when you married 
her.” 

“I don’t know a great deal now,” Kent admitted. 
“You imderstand the circumstances. I’ve never felt 
free to ask questions and—she never told me much.” 

“So I imagined. Now let me handle this in my 
own way. It isn’t my first experience in affairs of 
this sort. We’ll leave here to-morrow, and by the 
time we reach Naples I’ll probably have something 
to report.” 

It was in Naples, a week later. William Sothern 
had finished reading a bundle of cable reports from 
his New York office; he sat in deep meditation for 
some time before he rose and walked into Kent’s 
room. 

The latter had changed surprisingly in seven days; 
his face was thinner, whiter than formerly, and his 
homely, irregular features were thrown into more 
rugged relief. He had slept but little and in his 
sunken eyes was a feverish glitter. He had become 
moody and quiet—dangerously quiet. He looked up 
to ask: 

“Did you get any news?” 

205 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


did. They^re in Nice at the Hotel Royal. We 
can lay hands on them in twenty-four hours.” 

Kent came to his feet slowly. ‘‘That’s good. Let’s 
go.” 

“Wait!” Sothern was still frowning. “Are you 
really in love with—that woman?” 

Kent exposed his teeth in an ugly grin. “What 
do you think?” 

“Answer me, please.” 

There was a pause, then, “I’m not quite sure 
whether I love her or—^hate her.” 

“It makes a difference,” the detective said, gravely. 
“If you hate her, it’s all right. If you—don’t, then 
it’s all wrong and we’d better drop things where they 
are.” 

“What d’you mean?” 

“I mean this: she isn’t your wife, and never was.’^ 
Kent did not appear to grasp the significance of this 
amazing statement, so the speaker continued: “She 
is a careless woman—remarkably careless. She neg¬ 
lected to get a divorce from Jim Selbee.” 

Slowly the mining man’s face took on an added 
pallor; it became ghastly. “That’s— bigamyT* he 
cried. 

“Exactly. I suspected there was something 
wrong. I don’t want to hurt you unnecessarily, but 
you’d better know the whole truth. To begin with, 
she isn’t even an out-and-out adventuress; she’s an 
206 


RECOIL 


imitation; she’s phony even in that. She was born 
Lizzie Oakley, in Sacramento. Her father was a 
plumber. She went on the stage at a Frisco music 
hall and finally worked her way up to leading woman 
in a stock company. I’ve got all the dope right here. 
She worked opposite an actor named Jim Selbee and 
married him. He was a drunk; they soon separated. 
She’s like a good many stage women, Gordon; she 
has played at making love so much that she can’t 
take it seriously; life is all a romantic drama and 
you’re just one of her several leading men. There 
may be others like you, for all I know. Now then, 
there isn’t much you can do except send her back 
to the States and convict her of bigamy.” 

Kent uttered an oath, then he fell silent, scowling 
somberly. 

‘^What about Marchmont?” he inquired. 

“I’ll get his record to-morrow, if he has one.” 

“Have it sent on to Nice. Let’s go get ’em. Bill.” 

Two men were waiting when Sothern and Kent 
descended from the train at Nice, an operative of the 
Sothern Agency and an officer from the Paris Bureau 
of Secret Police. For perhaps ten minutes the four 
men talked, then they drove to the Hotel Royal. 
After a brief conference with the concierge^ they 
were shown to the apartment of Monsieur and 
Madame Marchmont. 


207 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


The French officer tried the door, but it was 
locked; then, in answer to an inquiry from within, 
he cried, dramatically: 

“Open, in the name of the law!” 

There was a moment of silence, the sound of whis¬ 
pering. Marchmont himself opened the door. He 
was in a royal-blue velvet lounging robe; his silk 
shirt was open at the throat. At sight of his callers 
he recoiled; he made no effort at resistance when 
they filed past him. 

The reception room of the handsome Marchmont 
suite was in disorder and it was blue with cigarette 
smoke. It was a hot day, nevertheless the windows 
were closed; there was the heavy odor of perfumes. 
On the mantel were goblets of stale wine; here and 
there were vases filled with wilted flowers; scattered 
about were articles of wearing apparel and French 
newspapers. 

Norma, in charming negligee, was seated at a 
breakfast table, but at the intrusion she leaped to 
her feet, pale and frightened. Gordon Kent was the 
last to enter, and when she met his menacing, fever¬ 
ish eyes she uttered a cry, swayed weakly, and slid 
to the floor. 

The American operative spoke first. He addressed 
her roughly, saying: 

“Snap out of it, Lizzie Oakley! Don’t pull a 
fainting scene.” 


208 


RECOIL 


“Lizzie Oakley?” Norma raised her wide blue 
eyes, into which had come a new and wilder terror. 

“You heard me. Get up.” The detective strode 
toward her. 

“Don’t lay a hand on her!” Marchmont cried, 
furiously. “This is an outrage. This lady is— 
is-” 

“This lady is—what?” Sothern inquired, sar¬ 
castically. 

“She is—she has done nothing to warrant this 
indignity. I’ll answer to her husband.” 

“You’ll answer, all right. But not to her husband. 
He happens to be somewhere in America, and he 
probably wouldn’t be interested, anyhow.” 

There came a gasping cry from the woman; she 
buried her face in her hands. To the open-mouthed 
Marchmont, Sothern continued, bitingly: “You 
have been victimized, young man. So has Mr. Kent. 
But he merely considered her his wife, whereas you 
considered her a great lady, a wealthy woman, and 
therefore desirable prey. She’s neither. She’s the 
wife of a cheap actor, and, outside of the jewelry 
and the clothes Gordon gave her, she hasn’t enough 
to support you for a week.” 

“Good God!” Marchmont cried in a horrified 
voice. 

“A sad awakening for love’s young dream, isn’t 
it?” 


209 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘^The money—of course that means nothing’’— 
the Adonis in the royal-blue robe managed a careless 
gesture—‘‘but the other—! I don’t believe it!” 

“Nevertheless, it is quite true. She was a me¬ 
diocre stock actress. You’ve hung around dressing 
rooms; you must know a hundred like her. Her fine 
society airs and her French phrases, that’s all stage 
stuff—‘East L5mne’ and ‘Camille’! For a bright 
young-man-of-the-world you are easily deceived.” 

Norma spoke now. Tearfully but defiantly she 
said: “It’s true—in a way. But Selbee and I were 
divorced in the eyes of God. I never loved him, I 
never loved any man until I met Larry. I’ve made 
mistakes. What woman hasn’t? But I’ve suffered 
for them. You don’t understand about Selbee. Now 
you try to rob me of the one real love I ever knew. 
Larry dear”—beseechingly she held out her arms— 
“you won’t let it make any difference? You’re too 
noble-?” 

In the momentary silence that ensued, Marchmont 
drew himself up to his full height; he assumed an 
air of dignity. 

“If that is all you have to say, gentlemen, I wish 
you good morning.” 

“It isn’t quite all.” 

“Tell her the bad news,” Gordon Kent exclaimed, 
harshly, and Sothern turned to Norma. 

“It’s a good joke all around, Lizzie. We’ve spoiled 
210 



RECOIL 


the whole day for your noble lover, but you’ll be 
shocked to learn that he put it over you as badly 
as you put it over him. Fact! His name isn’t 
Marchmont. It’s McClure—Tommy McClure. He’s 
a man of leisure, all right; he loafs whenever he can 
get a woman to support him. And he has a title, 
too. Among the cabaret set in New York he’s 
known as ^Taxi Tommy,’ because of his unusual 
knack of acquiring ladies’ jewelry in taxicabs. He’s 
a professional escort. He sees ’em home and steals 
their lavallieres. You’re wanted on at least one 
charge of bigamy, Lizzie; he’s wanted in forty places 
for larceny.” 

“That’s a lie!” stormed the woman. 

“Is it? Look at him.” Sothern resumed, in dis¬ 
gust. “You’re a pair of cheap grafters and there’s 
no credit in turning you up. This hero of yours 
lives off women, usually middle-aged women whose 
husbands Mon’t understand them.’ You’re prob¬ 
ably the youngest, best-looking dame he ever 
grabbed. He’s a crook, of course, but not a first- 
class crook—just a wife comforter. He wheedles 
pennies from flower girls and borrows rings from ro¬ 
mantic old women. He’s a petty, pawn-ticket pirate; 
the dancing cafes are full of ’em. New York got 
too hot for Tommy, so he danced over to London, 
then to Paris. We’ve got enough on him so he can’t 
go home, and this French officer will keep him doing 

2II 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


short stretches until he has a long beard. A fine 
pair of boobs, aren’t you?” 

Norma Selbee’s face was ashen; even her lips 
were white. She stared at the resplendent March- 
mont with eyes of tragic misery. As for that dash¬ 
ing blade, he had shrunk; beads of perspiration had 
gathered upon his classic brow; he shot furtive 
glances from one hostile face to another. When he 
encountered the horrified gaze of the woman he hur¬ 
riedly dropped his eyes. 

In the oppressive silence that ensued, the stale 
atmosphere of the room became more noticeable. 
Sothern turned to his friend: 

^Well, Gordon, weVe got ’em. What ’ll we do 
with ’em? These French jails are nice and 
dirty-” 

Kent spoke in a tired, monotonous voice. “I’ve 
had murder in my heart for ten days. I’d kill this 
rat now, here, if she loved him or he loved her. But 
they don’t. They hate each other—or they will. 
They owe me a lot and they’ve got to pay. They’ve 
amused themselves by playing at hypocrisy. I’m 
going to make ’em work at it. Jail? They’re afraid 
of jail. Well, I’m going to make ’em long for it.” 

Sothern regarded the speaker imcomprehendingly. 

Kent went on: 

“I guess there’s some Spanish in me; anyhow, I’ve 
been thinking it over ever since we got McClure’s 
212 


RECOIL 


record, and things have broken just right. You’ve 
got enough on ’em so they’re at your mercy any¬ 
where, any time. All right. Make ’em live together 
the rest of their rotten lives. That ’ll do me. Here 
are my orders and I want ’em carried out at any 
cost. Follow these two, day and night, wherever 
they go, if it takes a hundred coppers. Make ’em 
live together as man and wife, and make 'em live 
straight! Send me a written report every day. I 
like to read.” 

‘^That will cost a lot of money, Gordon.” 

‘T’m rich. Think of my satisfaction in joining 
two loving hearts! ” 

“The world is a big place, and they’ll live a long 
time.” 

“The longer the better. It won’t get good until 
they’ve tried it awhile. That’s where my Spanish 
comes in. Now get this: if either of ’em turns a 
crooked trick, give ’em the works, throw the book 
at ’em. That’s all. Bill. Let’s go.” 

Norma Selbee and Laurence Marchmont took the 
Midi Express for Paris. They were followed to the 
train. During the long night ride they had little 
to say to each other, for there was nothing much 
to talk about. Gone entirely was the glamour of the 
past few weeks; romance was dead and they saw 
each other only as Sothern had painted them—com- 

213 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


mon, sordid grafters—criminals under suspended 
sentence. Neither of them slept; it was a tiresome 
trip. 

^^Kent didn’t mean what he said,” Marchmont 
declared at one time. “What’s more, his scheme 
won’t work.” 

“No?” 

“Certainly not. He can’t make us live together.” 

“You think we’d better—separate?” Norma in¬ 
quired, curiously. 

Marchmont flushed. “Why, of course—for the 
time being. I’m in bad with these French police; 
no use of making it worse. I’ll go to the Grand.” 

“Very well. I’ll find some other place to stop.” 

When they reached Paris, Larry separated his 
and Norma’s luggage and, calling two porters, in¬ 
structed them to place the bags in separate taxicabs. 
He was startled when a stranger tapped him on the 
shoulder and said, politely: 

“Monsieur has made a mistake, without doubt.” 

Marchmont paled. Norma turned upon the 
speaker with blazing eyes. 

“How dare you?” she cried. 

“You and your companion will be kept under 
constant espionage, madame. Remonstrance is use¬ 
less, unless you wish to submit to arrest.” 

“One cab,” Marchmont told the porters. “Grand 
Hotel!” 


214 


RECOIL 


For several days the couple lived as quietly as 
they knew how, taking their meals in their suite, 
going out only upon rare occasions. Outwardly, 
they were upon the best of terms; in reality, they 
lived as strangers and each avoided the other. To 
the woman it was a hideous experience. Knowledge 
that she was watched and that her wrong-doing had 
been made public weighed her down with an imac- 
customed sense of shame and rendered her unbear¬ 
ably self-conscious. It came as a disagreeable sur¬ 
prise, moreover, to realize not only that Larry had 
never loved her, but also that she was powerless to 
interest him. It bitterly humiliates any woman to 
learn that she is bankrupt of sex appeal. Had Larry 
shown a defiant willingness to face the situation, for 
her sake, that would have brought some relief, but 
she was denied even that slender satisfaction. Not 
that she craved his love; the very fascinations he 
possessed aroused her deepest contempt now that 
she knew the uses he had put them to. No, she saw 
him exactly as Sothern had painted him and she 
had not the faintest desire to patch up anything from 
the wreck of their affair. Escape was all she thought 
about. 

One day she directed the carriage man at the 
Grand to call a motor, and in this she drove to the 
Galeries Lafayette. She left the cab waiting at the 
main entrance, took the lift to the third floor, hurried 

215 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


downstairs, and slipped out a side entrance. She re¬ 
peated the maneuver at another store, then hailed a 
horse-drawn cab and was driven by devious routes 
to an obscure pension. She rented a room and locked 
herself in. For the first time since leaving Nice she 
breathed freely. 

About six o’clock a discreet knock brought her to 
the door, there to be greeted by the very French 
officer who had met her and Larry at the station. 

“Monsieur will be waiting dinner,” the man said, 
politely. He stood aside while Norma, with stony 
face and numb, shaking fingers, put on her hat and 
descended the stairs. 

Back in her bedroom at the Grand, she flung her¬ 
self upon her bed, sobbing. 

At dinner, Marchmont noted her reddened, swollen 
eyes and exclaimed, irritably: “So, you’ve started 
sniveling! My God! how I hate a crying Jane!” 

Listlessly she told him what had happened to her. 
She was surprised at the reaction her words pro¬ 
voked. 

“Tried to run out on me, eh? Say, what’s wrong 
with me? I’m a pretty good looker—anyhow, I’ve 
got it on Kent for beauty—and I know a lot of 
women that wouldn’t break a leg getting away from 
me.” Tommy McClure, be it said, spoke not with 
the elegance of Laurence Regan Marchmont. 

216 


RECOIL 


“If I were you I wouldn’t compare myself with 
Gordon Kent,” she told him. 

“Why not?” he demanded. “Why not? Be¬ 
ginning to see him in a new light, I suppose; be¬ 
ginning to realize his sterling virtues; getting stuck 
on him, now it’s too late. Is that it?” He laughed 
unpleasantly. “The big boob! Say, he’s a joke. 
‘Make ’em live together all their rotten lives.’ Bah! 
I can leave those bulls flat any minute.” 

“Why don’t you do it?” eagerly queried Norma. 

Marchmont regarded her curiously; his tone had 
changed when he said: “Perhaps I don’t want to. 
Is there anything strange about that? Maybe I’d 
rather stay. Just because a fellow has made some 
mistakes, does that prove he’s all bad? You’ve made 
a few yourself, according to Sothern.” 

“He lied! I didn’t divorce Jim Selbee, but—the 
other things he implied were lies. I’ve been a 
fool-” 

“Same here. Let it go at that. I’m a pretty good 
scout. I wouldn’t make a bad husband.” 

Norma stared incredulously at the speaker. This 
was a new Larry, “I’m afraid it’s useless to discuss 
that,” she told him. 

“Maybe so. But think it over. And—don’t mind 
what I said just now. Maybe I’m jealous. A little 
kiss wouldn’t hurt-” 


217 




BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

Norma shook her head positively and Marchmont 
shrugged. 

In the seclusion of her own chamber, Norma pon¬ 
dered this new situation. Suppose Larry loved her, 
after all. What then? She had made a complete 
fiasco of her own life and she had no doubt that 
Kent would see his vengeance through; but love is 
a redeemer. If Larry were sincere she might get 
him to run straight and thus salvage something out 
of this wreck. That would be worth trying. What 
was more, it would balk Kent’s outrageous scheme 
of revenge, rob him of his satisfaction. Oddly 
enough, neither prospect thrilled her in the least. 

For the next few days Marchmont really outdid 
himself. He was genial, tender, solicitous, his ami¬ 
able qualities were at their best, and the woman re¬ 
luctantly resigned herself to the inevitable. She 
tried to like him. She tried to believe that he had 
shown her the way out. 

Larry had several friends in Paris, among the 
number being a licensed guide, one of those curious 
persons whose business it is to show the night life 
of the city to visitors, and the two spent considerable 
time together. One evening at dinner he told Norma 
that he intended to take in the sights for a change. 
She made no objection to his going out, for she was 
still wrestling with her problem and the prospect of 
an evening alone with her thoughts was agreeable. 

218 


RECOIL 


While she lingered over her sweet, he went into his 
room and changed into evening dress. He emerged 
finally, spotless, immaculate, his high hat tilted 
slightly, his overcoat upon his arm, and Norma ad¬ 
mitted grudgingly that he presented a handsome pic¬ 
ture. She did not know that beneath the careless 
folds of that topcoat, nestling snugly within the 
crook of his arm, was her jewel case. 

Larry and his guide drove to the Casino de Paris, 
where they enjoyed the varieties for a half hour, 
then they strolled back to the stage entrance, through 
the dressing-room corridor, and out into an alley, 
where a closed car was waiting. Leaping into this, 
they were whisked down crooked passages, through 
one-way streets against the traffic, along the Boule¬ 
vard, across the Place de la Concorde, out the 
Champs Elysees and into the Bois. At a deserted 
spot in the park Marchmont alighted. 

“There’s a bag in the other car,” his accomplice 
told him, “and you can change on the way.” 

Larry nodded. The car rolled on. Soon another 
automobile approached, slowed down, and the wait¬ 
ing man swung himself upon the running board. 

Dawn was breaking through a damp Channel fog 
when Marchmont boarded the boat at Calais. At 
Dover he lost himself in the disembarking crowd. 
Two days later he mingled unobtrusively with an¬ 
other throng, this time on the Southampton docks. 

219 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


He had a few moments of apprehension and he did 
not breathe freely until he was up the gangplank 
of the Orizaba and safely inside his stateroom. Then 
he grinned broadly and lit a cigarette. 

So! Live together, eh? Run straight! Sothern 
must think him a fine fool. There was quite a for¬ 
tune in those jewels. 

It was perhaps five minutes of sailing time when 
the rattle of a key in his door lock interrupted 
Marchmont^s complacent meditations. Evidently 
some room steward had made a mistake. He opened 
the door to explain, but explanations failed him. A 
tall stranger in a suit of tweeds was facing him. He 
carried a familiar-looking pigskin bag and behind 
him was a heavily veiled woman in a rich traveling 
dress. It was Norma. Larry^s jaw fell open; so 
did the door. 

‘^Here you are. Miss Oakley,” the man announced, 
cheerily, “and time to spare.” He stood aside to 
let his companion enter the stateroom. To March- 
mont he explained, succinctly: “I^m from Scotland 
Yard. WeVe cabled Sothern^s men to pick you up 
on the dock in New York. I may say weYe jolly 
well pleased to pass you along, McClure. And take 
a bit of advice—don^t return.” 

“Damn their hearts!” Marchmont cried, furiously, 
when the door had closed. 

“Why rave?” Norma wearily inquired. “TheyVe 
220 


RECOIL 


got us. We^re branded. By the way, you may as 
well return the jewels to me, for that officer said 
if you ever tried to pawn them, or any part of them, 
either here or in the States, they’d spring the trap.” 
Again the man cursed, more violently^ whereupon 
his traveling companion’s lip curled. “Poor ^Taxi 
Tommy’!” she mocked. “They won’t even let him 
work at his old trade.” 

One morning, perhaps six months later, Norma 
Selbee called at Gordon Kent’s New York home. It 
was not an easy thing to do; desperation alone drove 
her to it. She had lived only a few days in this 
apartment; oddly enough, however, she still thought 
of it as home, and when she was shown in she gazed 
about her with emotions hard to analyze. She was 
afraid to meet Kent, and during the time she waited 
for him she struggled against a terrible faintness. 
Fiercely she bit her numb lips and drove her nails 
into the palms of her hands. 

/ When he came into the room she uttered a faint 
cry of distress, for he had aged. He had lived his 
forty years in less time even than Sothern had 
deemed possible. He looked ill; he stared bleakly 
at his caller; his voice was cold when he began: 

“Needless to say I am surprised to see you.” He 
waited for her to speak. 

She had come with her speech prepared and she 
began it finally, but faltered; her throat swelled; 

221 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


she began to shake uncontrollably. He watched her 
with no visible trace of compassion. 

—suppose you know—everything that has hap¬ 
pened/^ she managed to say. 

He nodded. 

‘‘Haven’t I—we—haven’t we paid enough?” 

He shook his head. 

She broke out hysterically at this denial, her voice 
rose, she wrung her hands. “I’ll go mad if it keeps 
up. I’ll—kill him or he’ll kill me. It’s God’s 
truth!” 

“Am I to infer that your life with—my successor 
is not altogether happy?” 

“Don’t mock at me,” the woman moaned. “You 
know—your daily reports must show-” 

“No doubt Mr. McClure—or do you call him 
Marchmont? No doubt he sent you here to voice 
his own as well as your dissatisfaction with our ar¬ 
rangement?” 

“He didn’t send me. We never speak—except 
to quarrel. We’ve lived as strangers ever since that 
awful morning in Nice. That’s the terrible part— 
for me, a woman. Living in the same rooms with 
a man like that! My God! if you knew him!” 

“I have no desire to make his better acquaint¬ 
ance.” 

“He won’t go straight. I’ve tried to make him, 
but—it’s no use. I did you a great injury, Mr. Kent. 


222 



RECOIL 


People do things sometimes without thinking. That 
has always been my trouble^—not thinking. IVe 
thought a great deal since—then. IVe realized that 
nothing I can do will right matters, but—I was 
willing to try. I tl\ought it might help to square the 
account if I took my medicine without complaint 
and—and made something out of him.” 

“Admirable purpose! I commend your lofty 
thought.” 

Again the woman protested, hoarsely: “Don’t jeer 
at me. I was honest about it, and I haven’t always 
been honest, even with myself. He made me think 
it was possible. Then he stole my jewels.” 

Kent smiled. “Yes. There was a certain sar¬ 
donic humor about that. You have been pawning 
those jewels, I understand.” 

“What devil prompted you to take such a re¬ 
venge? Do you know what it means to live with 
some one you loathe? It’s like being handcuffed 
to a person with a horrible disease. I’m—a woman, 
Mr. Kent. I can’t—stand it.” The speaker’s voice 
broke. “Put me in a cell. Put me some place in 
the dark, only get me away from him. It’s out¬ 
rageous. I’ll pay my share—I don’t want to dodge 
my debt—but no prison, no punishment could be 
half so hideous as—what I’m going through.” 

“Has he arrived at a similar frame of mind?” 

“I don’t know. Probably. He seldom comes near 
223 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


me except to demand money. IVe tried to refuse, 
but—^he threatened to beat me.’’ 

^That, of course, I shall not permit. If ever he 
raises a hand to you, we’ll take him within an hour. 
You may tell him so.” 

‘Tet me go! Let me out! ” Norma panted. ^^Don’t 
make me envy the women on the streets.” 

“And why not?” Kent demanded, fiercely. “Are 
you any better than they?” 

“I don’t know. Everything is all crooked. It 
seems to me as if I’d been groping all my life—in 
the dark. Perhaps I’m no better than they, only 
different. What Mr. Sothern said about playing at 
love is probably true, but the men I knew played at 
love, too, and all of them were cheats, except you. 
Let me go. Call off your men.” 

“And why? Just because you’re learning what 
it is to pay a debt?” 

“No. It’s not because of that.” The woman 
spoke apathetically. “It’s because I shall do some¬ 
thing—dreadful if this keeps up. I’ve tried running 
away, time after time, and so has March—so has he. 
We’ve given that up. But those men are always 
lurking around—always! The same ones. The 
same faces. In the street, in the stores, in the 
theaters. I see them in my dreams, especially the 
dark one with the scar. I feel eyes on me even 
when I’m alone and locked in my room. And 
224 


RECOIL 


March —he does, too. IVe heard him shout, from 
his room, and throw things at the wall, and curse. 
They never speak, they^re never looking, and yet 
they see everything. I think we’re going crazy. 
That’s what I came to see you about. He’ll prob¬ 
ably kill me some day and go to the electric chair, 
just to escape.” 

^^Not while your jewelry lasts.” Kent rose. The 
interview had terminated. ‘‘My experiment works. 
It is expensive, but it’s amusing and I get little 
amusement these days. Thank you for calling.” 

He watched her as she moved out of the room, 
and for a long time after he heard the outer door 
close he stood motionless, staring ahead of him with 
fixed, unseeing eyes. If, indeed, his vengeance 
brought him joy, he showed none of it, for his face 
was gray with suffering, and when finally he moved 
it was as a feeble, tired old man. 

Kent telephoned his friend Sothern one day to 
inquire: “What’s this about Norma going to work? 
What does it mean?” 

“It simply means that she can’t stand the situation 
any longer.” 

“You’re sure the money isn’t gone?” 

“Quite sure. We’ve traced every piece of jewelry 
she has pledged. No, she’s breaking down. She 
tried the Fifth Avenue fashion shops, and even the 
department stores, then she got a job in this Newark 
225 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


stock company. I^m sorry for her, Gordon. It 
must be hell.’^ 

There was a pause. ^^Anything new about—the 
man?^’ 

^^Nothing except that he’s taken to dope. He’s 
hitting it pretty hard. Nerves gone. He’s thoroughly 
licked. He hasn’t even attempted a getaway since 
we nailed him the last time. He’s as easy to find 
as a bell sheep. But he’s getting mighty jumpy— 
that’s the drugs, of course. Any further instruc¬ 
tions?” 

^^None. Don’t let your men get careless, that’s 
all.” 

What Norma had said about her and Marchmont’s 
life together was quite true. Ever since that dis¬ 
mal hour when the Orizaba sailed from Southamp¬ 
ton the two had regarded themselves as prisoners 
locked for life into the same cell and each was hate¬ 
ful to the other. They avoided each other—as much 
as two people chained wrist to wrist can avoid each 
other—and their mutual loathing steadily grew. Be¬ 
tween them was not even that brotherhood of misery 
that exists between two cell mates. That day in 
Southampton Marchmont had profanely voiced his 
detestation of his companion, and scarcely a day 
had passed since then without his making that de¬ 
testation patent. Sometimes it was no more than 
a sneer in passing that he gave her; at other times 
226 


RECOIL 


he took a malevolent pleasure in openly torturing 
her. He discovered that she could not abide the 
sound of Gordon Kent’s name upon his lips, so he 
talked about the mining man, jeered at him, tor¬ 
mented her with accusations of love. The sight of 
her white face, her contemptuous lips, goaded him 
to fury, and more than once when she fled to her 
room, locked herself in, and buried her head in her 
pillows, he stood outside her door, rocking with rage 
and shouting obscene taunts at her. It roused him 
to a frenzy, also, to realize that he dared not touch 
her, for in his foaming passions he would have 
gladly torn her flesh and taken solace for his mon¬ 
strous fury from her screams. His fingers itched 
for her, but he had been warned against that, and 
Sothern had spoken truly, he was licked. Fear had 
him. In his dreams he saw those faces, felt a hand 
upon his shoulder, heard a voice bidding him come. 

It was almost equally infuriating to realize that 
he was dependent upon Norma’s bounty, but he was 
in mortal terror of trying his old tricks—those men 
again—and honest work had never brought him the 
luxury he craved. She never gave him money that 
he did not curse the name of the man from whom 
it really came. Of course the gems went, one by 
one, but Norma had come to regard them in a new 
light, for they reminded her of Gordon Kent and 
227 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


his boyish delight in giving, and she wept over them 
a good deal. 

Never had a woman been more lonely than she, 
for her position made friends impossible, and shame 
reddened her cheeks even when strangers looked 
at her. For relief she turned to work. 

At first she could not bear to think of going back 
on the stage where people would see her and per¬ 
haps learn who and what she was, but Newark was 
not New York and that stock company was obscure. 

She was almost happy during the first few weeks 
of her engagement, in spite of the fact that she 
knew she was shadowed back and forth. The work 
was exhausting, but it took her out of her cell. 
What was more, she felt some faint stirrings of self- 
respect within her breast. She held up her head. 

Then one Monday morning an amazing thing oc¬ 
curred. The company had reported for rehearsal; 
Norma was introduced to the new character man 
and met—Jim Selbee. 

Selbee was quite as surprised as she. 

‘‘Normal^’ he exclaimed. 

“Jini!” She raised a hand before her face as if 
to ward off a blow. Sick, dizzy, she walked out 
of the lights into the shadows of the wings. 

Selbee followed her, saying: 

“This is luck. IVe been looking ever)rwhere for 
you.” 


228 


RECOIL 


‘Why?” 

“ ‘Why’? I guess you can imagine. I’m your 
husband.” 

Even in the gloom it could be seen that time had 
not dealt kindly with Jim. He was fatter than for¬ 
merly, he was soft and white, and about him clung 
the depressing suggestion of failure. His clothes 
were wrinkled and baggy. 

“Say, what are you doing in a dump like this?” 
he inquired. “What’s become of your Peruvian 
prince? I expected to flag you on the Avenue in 
your Rolls-Royce.” 

“And collect your share, eh?” 

“Never mind that tone.” 

“Well, your trip East was useless. I— He left 
me.” 

“The devil he did!” Selbee was dismayed. 

Norma explained, faintly. “When I heard you 
were alive, why-” 

“Can that! You knew I was alive. Where did I 
ever die? So he left you! Well, I assume he pro¬ 
vided well for you. They say he’s got a ton of 
money.” 

“He gave me nothing.” 

^^What? You let him—? My God! what a fool! 
I guess it’s time you had a manager. But I’ll make 
him pay. There’s a big story in it—famous financier 
229 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


and actor’s wife. These rich guys can’t stand pub¬ 
licity.” 

“No, no!” gasped the woman. “You shan’t—I 
won’t let you.” She calmed herself with an effort 
and lied desperately: “He’s gone. He’s in Europe 
—no, South America.” 

“He’ll come back. We’ll reach him somehow. 
Where are you living, Norma?” 

“Over there—New York.” 

“Things have gone bad with me. I’ll bring my 
stuff over and we’ll dope out a scheme to shake this 
bird-” 

“Listen, Jim. I wouldn’t live with you if— I’d 
kill myself first.” 

“Oh, would you?” 

She nodded positively; her face was chalk white. 
“You tried to make me do this very thing in Frisco. 
That’s why I left you.” 

“Yeah? Well, the situation is different now. 
You’re a bigamist. I’m the injured husband and the 
law’s on my side. I guess I’ll handle this thing 
about the way I-” 

Selbee was called, at the moment, so he said, 
hurriedly: “I’ll see you after rehearsal and we’ll 
talk this thing out. I tell you, Norma, there’s a for¬ 
tune in it.” 

When, a short time later. Miss Selbee was called, 
she did not respond and inquiry developed the fact 
230 



RECOIL 


that she had suddenly been taken ill and had hur ¬ 
ried out of the theater. When she did not return, 
the rehearsal was postponed. 

The new character man was gravely concerned 
at the news, for he and Miss Selbee were related. 
He volunteered to go and render what assistance 
he could, and at the box office he was given Norma’s 
address. He returned to his lodgings, packed his 
things, and took the Tube to New York, but he 
was in a poisonous humor. Run out on him again, 
would she? He guessed not. She had always been 
obdurate. There was just one way to treat a con¬ 
trary woman—give her a good beating. 

Norma fled as if pursued, fled by taxi across town 
to the Subway, and, once in Manhattan, again by 
taxi to Gordon Kent’s apartment. Here was a 
situation! Jim Selbee would stop at nothing to get 
money, and if he discovered Marchmont—what 
then? At thought of the treatment Jim’s story would 
get in the newspapers she fell into a panic. But 
she had a plan and it would work, she felt sure, if 
Kent would agree to it and if there were time to 
put it through. 

But Kent was not in and his servants did not 
know when he would return. Norma tried frantically 
to locate him by telephone, but failed, so she waited. 
An hour pa^ed; two hours. 

When he did come she met him as he stepped 
231 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


into his reception hall. Her hysteria had passed 
and she had herself well in hand. She told him 
briefly why she had come. 

“Um-m. Blackmail, you say?’^ 

‘Tt’s Selbee^s old game. That’s why I left him.” 
Kent looked at her sharply and she flushed. “He 
wants money and he’ll go to any length to get it. 
He’s that kind.” 

“Of course I won’t give him a cent.” 

“Of course. That’s why I’m here. Mr. Sothern 
can’t handle this, but I can.” 

“How, pray?” 

“Call off your men. Let Marchmont go. Set us 
free. Don’t misunderstand me, please: I’m not 
begging for mercy. Unlock our chains and—I’ll 
go back to Jim.” 

^‘Live with him?” Kent was frankly astonished. 

Norma nodded. “I can manage him. It’s the 
only way out.” 

“Do you want to go back to him?” 

“You know I don’t. If anything, it will be worse 
than—the way I’m living now. But it will be better 
than scandal for you. He’ll drink as long as the 
money lasts, but if he takes me back that will stop 
him from making trouble. The law says something 
like that, I’m sure. You must act quickly, how¬ 
ever.” 


232 


RECOIL 


Kent eyed the speaker queerly. don’t under¬ 
stand you/’ he confessed. 

When Norma answered him, it was with more 
emotion than she had shown heretofore. “I was 
to blame. You’ve suffered enough without being 
publicly humiliated. Such things last. They’re not 
easily lived down. You’d be ruined. I’d like to 
avoid that.” She waited for him to say something, 
then inquired, “Will you—set me free?” 

“Yes! Of course!” He came to with a start. 
“It’s out of my hands. It is now Selbee’s affair. 
Perhaps I can do something about him-” 

She was at the door, but she shook her head. 
“You don’t know him.” 

She was gone; he could hear her feet flying down 
the hall. Again he stood as she had left him, mo¬ 
tionless, frozen, as if with her going had gone his 
power of movement. 

He was still standing there ten, perhaps fifteen, 
minutes later when the bell rang. Thinking that 
she had returned, he opened the door to discover one 
of Sothern’s operatives outside. 

The man began hurriedly: “I’ve got some news 
for you. There’s been a killing up yonder, at the 
hotel.” 

Kent shrank as if he had been struck; his face 
blanched. “My God! Not—^not—Norma?” 

“No. Marchmont shot Jim Selbee.” 

233 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


The mining man groped for support; he drew a 
deep, slow breath of relief. ^‘How—did it happen?’’ 
he managed to inquire. 

“We’ve got the story pretty straight, I think. 
Selbee, it seems, came there looking for his wife, and 
found Marchmont. He ordered him out—a bell boy 
overheard him cursing Marchmont and telling him 
to get out—and of course Marchmont refused. Some 
situation for him, wasn’t it? Couldn’t go and 
couldn’t stay. They had a row. Marchmont was 
full of hop and—shot him. 

“We got in with the hotel employees—broke the 
door down. They’d been fighting all over the place, 
but the woman wasn’t there.” 

“She was here,” said Kent. “They can’t link her 
up with it.” 

“Marchmont started a self-defence talk till he 
saw us—^Allen was with me^—then he went clear off 
his nut and began to shout: T did it. I did it. Now, 
damn you, follow me up the river, if you can! ’ He 
kept that up till the officers got there, and on the 
way to the station he kept yelling and cursing at 
Allen and me and begging them to ‘give him the 
works,’ ‘throw the book at him.’ You’d think we 
made him do it.” 

“You did.” 0 

‘Eh?” 

“Go on.” 


234 


RECOIL 


‘‘That’s about all. He’s raving like a madman— 
steaming with ‘hop/ I suppose. They’ve got him in 
a straight jacket, but he’s getting worse.” 

“Thank you for letting me know. Your job is 
over, now. It’s up to Sothern to handle the news¬ 
papers.” 

But the newspapers could not be “handled.” The 
story back of the killing of Jim Selbee was un¬ 
covered, in spite of the fact that the ravings of his 
slayer were almost unintelligible. Tommy Mc- 
clure, alias Marchmont, had suffered a mental break¬ 
down, in all probability permanent, according to the 
doctors, and his deed had been that of a maniac, 
nevertheless enough was made out of his gabblings 
to set inquiry afoot among his friends, and they 
gave the story form. 

Gordon Kent had cheated the newspapers out of 
a story once before; they followed this one hungrily. 
Neither money nor influence availed to check them, 
and he awoke one morning to find his name on the 
front page. The story was garbled, of course; it 
was inaccurate and highly colored, but it told of the 
impetuous wooing and the hurried wedding, the 
wife’s elopement with the audacious Marchmont, 
son of an Irish earl; the outraged husband’s scheme 
of revenge made possible at the last moment by the 
discovery that Jim Selbee was alive. Kent was pic¬ 
tured as a mysterious man of unlimited wealth and 

235 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


power, who lived in Babylonian splendor and whose 
extravagances, whose eccentricities, were the sensa¬ 
tion of New York. Here the reporters let their 
imaginations run wild and they invented episodes, 
adventures, wholly outrageous. But most of their 
writings were descriptive of Kent’s monstrous hatred 
and his Machiavellian vengeance against the devoted 
lovers, a vengeance that had driven Marchmont to 
murder and wrecked his mind. 

It was a saffron triumph of news gathering and 
it caught on. It was rewritten from various angles. 
It all but killed Norma Selbee. 

Kent, too, was crushed. He was a sensitive man. 
Notoriety was like the touch of flame, so he locked 
himself in his apartment and nobody saw him, 
nobody spoke with him. 

He knew himself now to be a marked man, an 
object of curiosity if not of derision, and he brooded 
over that fact. For the first time he realized how 
dangerous it may be for a man to act as judge in 
his own cause. He had dug a pit and his own feet 
had fallen into it; the thorns which he reaped were 
of the tree he had planted. Most of all, however, 
he thought of the suffering he had caused Norma. 

She was surprised one night, several weeks after 
the death of Selbee, when he sent his car for her. 
It was with uncertain hands that she dressed her¬ 
self ; she was trembling when she entered his home. 

236 


RECOIL 


“I didn’t tell them,” she faltered, when they met. 
''They tried every way to make me talk, but—I never 
mentioned your name.” 

"I know. Sothern told me. But—those wolves! 
There’s no avoiding them. I sent for you to— 
apologize. It’s a poor word. I’d like to make 
amends for the misery I’ve brought you, if there’s 
any way.” 

Norma shook her head; her face was distressed. 
"That isn’t necessary. The debt is on my side.” 

"Those newspapers have made it impossible for 
me to live here any longer. They’ve run me out of 
my own country—the country I love. I’m going 
back.” 

"Back?” 

"To South America. It’s the only place left.” 

Norma knew how bitterly he must hate this ne¬ 
cessity. Compassion for him and relief at the fact 
that he held her blameless for this last misfortune 
brought a film of tears to her eyes. She was very 
tired; her nerves had been stretched to the break¬ 
ing point; it was a relief to give way. Meanwhile, 
he talked on. 

"I worked twenty years, like a galley slave, with 
one thought in my mind—to come back to my own 
people and be one of them. I was tired. I wanted 
to play. I didn’t intend to hurt anybody and I 
was willing to pay double for any happiness I could 

237 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


find. You don’t know what it’s like to choke up 
when you see your own flag and to say: ^That’s 
mine. Some day I’ll go home.’ I can’t even do 
that any more. And all from wanting to play— 
to catch up on the joys I’d missed. It’s kind of— 
heart-breaking. But there—! Don’t cry,” he said 
gently. ‘Tt was coming to me. It’s a light punish¬ 
ment, I dare say, for the sin I committed. You 
see, I never realized how much of a woman you are 
until—until too late.” After a while, he resumed, 
meditatively: “There’s an old Spanish house, I 
know, with a sunny patio and a trickling fountain. 
It is set way up above a Spanish city with high 
cathedral towers and it looks west out over the 
ocean. The mountains behind are steep and bare, 
but the canyons are full of color. There are orange 
trees outside the windows of the house and hibiscus 
trees with big red blossoms, and fragrant night¬ 
blooming shrubs with queer names. It’s very quiet 
there. Nothing ever happens. Ships pass in and 
out, but there’s nothing to do except read and sleep 
and think and look at the ocean and play with the 
little brown Spanish kids. You wouldn’t like it.” 

Norma wiped her eyes and smiled forlornly. 

“Well, I’m going back there. I’m going to drop 
out—forget that I’m an American, forget that I ever 
lived in a place called New York. Before I go, 
238 


RECOIL 


there something I wish you to have. It’s in your 
room. You know the way-” 

‘‘Thank you—no,” she gasped. “I’d rather not— 
go in.” 

“I wish you would.” 

Without further protest, she rose and crossed the 
hall into the chamber he had shown her to that first 
night, and there on the dressing table, carefully 
laid out, each piece nestling in its case, were the 
jewels she had parted with. She uttered a faint cry, 
for the sight of them was like a bayonet thrust. So 
he had redeemed them, each and every one, and 
now gave them back to her. This was his payment. 
He had meant it as a kindness, no doubt, but— She 
sank to the padded bench and bowed her head in 
her arms. 

Kent spoke from the door; “Your clothes, your 
furs, and all your pretty things are in the closets. 
I hung them there myself and—I’ve cared for them 
with my own hands. I suppose they’re out of style, 
but they’re very dear to me and they look very 
beautiful.” 

“O my God!” sobbed the woman. 

“It’s quiet in that drowsy old Spanish house. But 
don’t you think we’ve had enough excitement?” 

Norma ceased weeping; she looked up with a 
dawning incredulity in her eyes. 

He nodded at her unspoken question and smiled 

239 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


gravelj^y- “Yes, dear—always—every hour! Only 
I couldn’t believe you cared for me.” He came and 
stood close beside her and she laid her wet face 
against his sleeve. “There, there! We still have 
the future and it begins to-morrow morning at eleven, 
when our ship sails. We’ll be married at ten.” 


240 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


I 

I T was four o^clock on a sultry afternoon, and the 
office of the Lockport Daily and Weekly Argus 
was athrob with life. The rattle of the hand press 
shook the loose window frames of the combined 
editorial and press rooms; over all was an atmos¬ 
phere of excitement and expectancy. With regard 
to the size of Lockport as a town, and the dignity of 
the Argus as a paper, perhaps the fact that Major 
Parker, the editor and publisher, referred to himself 
as “we,” and to his office as “the sanctum,” explains 
all that is necessary. Publication hour, always an 
occasion of activity, was to-day something more than 
that, for it marked an epoch in the life of the com¬ 
munity, and headlines in the heaviest t3^e the Argus 
office afforded proclaimed the following: 

LOCKPORT CAPTURES THE PH(ENIX 
FACTORY 

Beneath that leader were the exciting details of 
how the Chamber of Commerce had prevailed upon 
the “gigantic Phoenix Shirtwaist Factory, emplo5dng 

243 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


more than one hundred hands, to locate in Lock- 
port.’^ This supreme achievement, according to the 
still damp copy, marked ‘‘the beginning of a great 
commercial uplift, destined to change our fair city 
from a quiet, easy-going agricultural center into a 
palpitating hive of industry whose stacks and chim¬ 
neys will pierce the sky and punctuate the horizon.” 

Joey Dunn, local editor, city editor, society editor, 
dramatic editor, and entire reportorial staff of the 
Argus, re-read that last sentence with satisfaction. 
In him was more than mere pride of authorship, for 
he had made this whole thing possible. It was he 
who had called Major Parker’s attention to an item 
in one of the exchanges stating that the shirtwaist 
factory at Plymouth was looking for a new site, and 
that germ it was, transplanted by Major Parker, 
which had inoculated the Chamber of Commerce 
with a sudden feverish aggressiveness and resulted 
in an offer to the shirtwaist factory of land and a 
building in Lockport. 

Major Parker looked up from his perusal of the 
Argus, in his eyes the moist, proud intensity of a 
general reviewing his heroic troops after a successful 
battle. 

“Now, Joey,” said he, “go up the street and get 
some interviews for the last page to-morrow. Go to 
the Bank, the Post Office, the Business College, and 
Judge Arnold’s.” 


244 


THE OBVIOUS THING 

Young Mr. Dunn agreed cheerfully. ^T’ll get the 
interviews while the excitement is at white heat, and 
I’ll write the story of the ice house fire later. I’m 
thinking out an idea for the fire story—works in 
great with the Phoenix Factory, too. Ice-house blaze 
lights the beacon of Lockport’s coming fame and 
glory—shirtwaist factory rises Phoenix-like from the 
ashes. Phoenix! Fire! Good, isn’t it?” 

‘^Splendid!” agreed Major Parker. ‘T shall use 
it myself, editorially. Now run along.” 

Joey Dunn was a spindling youth, at that embar¬ 
rassing age when coat sleeves and trousers legs are 
always too short. He was energetic, in an alert, 
loose-jointed way, and he possessed the restless in¬ 
dustry of a limber, half-grown setter dog. Joey had 
not been born to journalism; in fact, he had sprung 
from stock far removed from literary endeavors. 
He lived with an aunt out near the fair grounds, and 
had been reared with the woolen-mill crowd, hence 
he had got away to a bad start both in a business 
way and socially. Any small town boy will under¬ 
stand what industry and perseverance it had re¬ 
quired to become the Argus Eye, all-seeing, all- 
observing, even though the salary was only four 
dollars per week, with commissions on local ads and 
job printing. But Joey was not content with one 
calling. His was an ambitious nature, and he had 
plans. Mornings, he studied a course in efficiency 
245 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


engineering at Helm’s Business College; evenings he 
was assistant shipping clerk at the Lockport Car¬ 
riage Works, and once a week he did a two column 
news letter for the Madison City Dispatch, for which 
he was reimbursed in the amount of seventy-five 
cents. 

Literary work had gained Mr. Dunn some social 
recognition, to be sure, but one’s past dies hard in 
towns like Lockport and among the select Maple 
Avenue clique, which included the oldest families, he 
still remained a member of the woolen-mill crowd. 
This was an unbearable state of affairs, for Joey had 
met ‘^the one woman” and, unfortunately, she be¬ 
longed within the most exclusive inner circle of that 
very set. In moments of pessimism he told himself 
that it was just his luck to fall in love with Maggie 
Knapp, of all girls—the pride and the belle of 
Lockport, daughter of the president of the First 
National Bank, the Chamber of Commerce, and the 
County Fair Association, and owner of the one resi¬ 
dence in the city built by a Chicago architect. 

But doubts and indecisions were foreign to Mr. 
Dunn, and, being fully conscious of his handicap, he 
had long since embarked upon a secret enterprise 
designed solely to pave his way to Maple Avenue 
and bridge the social chasm yawning ’twixt the Fifth 
Ward and the Hill. Joey was—whisper—author of 
the ‘^Maude” letters in the Weekly Argus, a stinging, 
246 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


satirical review of Lockport^s intimate social doings, 
written in the best style of George Bernard Shaw, 
but with more punch, and supposedly emanating 
from one of the season^s debutantes. 

For doing the ^‘Maude’’ letters Joey received no 
direct financial return—he had not expected it—but 
his reward was greater than riches. Not long before 
this story opens he had seen fit to convey an un¬ 
mistakable hint as to the identity of the mysterious 
^^Maude,” and Lockport society, like society any¬ 
where else, had caressed the hand that smote it 
Joey had told Mrs. Parker, first extracting from her 
a sacred pledge of secrecy, and of course Mrs. Par¬ 
ker had told her most intimate friend, Mrs. Green- 
man. Mrs. Greenman had imparted the secret to 
Mrs. Hollinger, and Mrs. Hollinger had told the 
ladies of ‘^The Eastern Star,’^ and now, although 
Lockport’s exclusive set never openly discussed the 
matter, nevertheless it recognized Joey Dunn as the 
composer of those poison-pen paragraphs and—it 
had begun to take him in. 

Nor was that the extent of his triumph. Respect 
for Joey’s hidden power, his fearless independent 
criticism, had also brought him membership in the 
Creve-Coeur Club, an aggregation of Lockport’s 
leading young men, than which there was no higher 
social goal. Upon this foundation he had begun to 
build. 


247 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


In such condition, then, were the fortunes of our 
hero—if the author of the ^‘Maude” letters may be 
so considered—on the afternoon that he interviewed 
Mr. Knapp, Maggie’s father. Mr. Knapp was not 
averse to an interview—nobody in Lockport ever 
was—so Joey jotted down his bromidic platitudes 
with reportorial care. As he was leaving the bank 
he met Maggie entering, and stopped her to say: 

^‘Well, this is a great day for Lockport, isn’t it?” 

Miss Knapp appeared to have as little interest in 
the welfare of her town as in that of Joey Dunn, for 
she assumed his remark to apply to tlie weather. 
She agreed, politely, that it was indeed a fine day, 
but seasonable. With that vague, impersonal smile 
of the daughter of the leading citizen she was about 
to pass on, when Joey inquired: 

^Why, haven’t you heard the big news?” 

Miss Knapp had not, but right there she did. 
Joey gave it to her in all its breathless detail. Even 
so her being did not throb as a harp; capture of 
the giant Phoenix Shirtwaist Factory thrilled her to 
about the same extent as the capture of a muskrat in 
Pike Lake, and she seemed to regard the process as 
very similar, the labor entailed as about the same. 
Not until Joey abandoned the subject and mentioned 
Creve-Coeur night did Maggie’s interest become 
more than perfunctory. 

248 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


^‘Now that I’m secretary, we’re going to have 
better music,” Joey told her. 

‘‘How splendid!” Miss Knapp genuinely bright¬ 
ened. 

“We’ve hired Nussbaum Brothers’ full orchestra 
-—six pieces. They’ll play until the last Madison 
trolley leaves.” 

“I don’t know what our set would do without the 
dear old Creve-Coeur, do you?” 

It was Joey’s turn to brighten. Our set! Sound¬ 
lessly he repeated the magic words; intoxication 
mounted to his brain. He had arrived. Joey lost 
no time in profiting by his arrival. 

Inasmuch as he carried credentials identifying 
him as the Lockport representative of the New York 
Dramatic Mirrory and was thus entitled to a pair of 
seats at Hull’s Opera House whenever a theatrical 
attraction visited the town, he now took the tide at 
its full and with reckless haste invited Maggie to 
attend with him a performance of “East Lynne” as 
rendered by the Tannehill Repertoire Company on 
the following Friday night. He recommended the 
play highly. Would Miss Knapp do him the 
honor—? A bite of supper afterward at the Balti¬ 
more Oyster House—? 

Although Maggie’s smile altered not in its out¬ 
ward aspect; although her large, brown, earnest 
eyes remained fixed upon his; although her voice 
249 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


continued as sweet and as friendly as before—never¬ 
theless, a psychological metamorphosis occurred 
within her. Her soul hardened, turned to adamant, 
and Joey knew that he had received her regrets even 
before she voiced them and passed into the bank, 
still smiling in that radiant yet forbidding belle-of- 
the-village way. 

Full well Joey knew that no previous invitation 
stood in her way; full well he realized that “our set’^ 
had been merely a polite figure of speech. Miss 
Knapp tolerated him, yes, but no more than that, 
and the certainty was like gall. 

Joey vowed that he would not, could not, remain 
upon the fringe of Lockport^s four hundred. His 
nature revolted at compromise. Under his breath he 
swore to bring this proud beauty to his feet, then, 
absent-mindedly, he pulled down his coat sleeves to 
cover the immodest knobs of his wrist joints and, 
glowing with bitter resentment, set out to complete 
his round of interviews. 

Joey went without his dinner that night to finish 
the ice-house-fire story, then he hurried to the O. K. 
Drug Store to attend a business meeting of the 
Creve-Coeur Club. The members were well along 
with the details of the next reception when he ar¬ 
rived. Promptly upon his entrance he sprang the 
coup which he had been contemplating ever since 
Maggie Knapp’s refusal that afternoon. 

250 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


he began, ^^we^re not handling our invita¬ 
tions right. Some of the girls get half a dozen bids, 
and others don^t get any until the rush is over. 
Then they know they’re second choice, and of course 
they’re sore.” 

“That’s natural. Some of them are more popular 
than others,” declared Welch Travis, president of 
the Creve-Coeur Club. 

Duncan Leadbetter agreed with this. “Sure!” 
he exclaimed. “A girl is lucky to get an invite at all. 
We should worry if they get sore.” 

Joey shook his head. “In my position”—^he 
paused significantly—“I hear things that you fellows 
don’t. It’s the old folks! Suppose some of the lodge 
members should object to our using the Assembly 
Room? Where would we get another hall? The 
Creve-Coeur is exclusive, and its receptions have a 
lot of eclat. Suppose, for instance, we had to rent 
Schaeffer’s Hall? Where would our “class” be? 
Take it from me, we’re facing a crisis in the affairs 
of this organization.” 

“What are we going to do about it?” Welch in¬ 
quired. 

Joey answered with all the conviction he could 
muster. “There’s only one fair way, and that is to 
pick out the names of twenty girls, one for each of 
us, then draw lots. Every girl gets one invitation 
and no more, and every fellow gets a fair chance.” 

251 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


This innovation was too startling for immediate 
acceptance, especially by an organization of such 
dignity as the Creve-Coeur; the club’s president 
raised his voice in protest, but his words were inter¬ 
rupted by the entrance of a customer who wanted 
some cream of tartar, sulphur, and molasses. While 
Mr. Travis was engaged in compounding this odious 
mixture the discussion at the cigar counter went on, 
and by the time he returned a majority had been 
won over to Joey Dunn’s views. It was decided to 
hold a drawing then and there, and the secretary re¬ 
tired to prepare the slips, fold them, and place them 
in a hat. 

Any doubt whatsoever as to which member of the 
Creve-Coeur fell the slip containing Maggie Knapp’s 
name would be a reflection upon the sincerity of 
Joey Dunn’s interest in her. 

On the following morning Miss Knapp was both 
delighted and flattered at Joey’s telephone invitation 
to the dance, but she so regretted having already 
accepted another. Wasn’t it unfortunate? How¬ 
ever, she hoped he wouldn’t punish her by entirely 
overlooking her at the ball. Joey assured her that 
he wouldn’t; then he hung up with a sardonic grin. 

Were this story written in motion-picture ^^con¬ 
tinuity” form there would now come a “fade-out” 
to signify a lapse of time, then a “fade-in,” followed 
by the subtitle: “As the days passed and the night 
252 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


of the dance approached, with no further invitations, 
Miss Knapp, the pride and pet of Lockport, found 
herself in a panic resembling hysteria.” 

It was during the morning of the day of the dance 
that Maggie, in much bewilderment, and with no 
little resentment, telephoned to Joey Dunn at the 
Business College, and explained with honeyed sweet¬ 
ness that she had made a stupid error. She would 
be delighted to accept his invitation if it still re¬ 
mained open. Joey^s face was alight with supreme 
satisfaction when he returned to his lesson in 
“motion study,” part of his efficiency engineering 
course. Efficiency indeed! Well, it struck him that 
this was it. 

Had Miss Knapp better understood Joey^s charac¬ 
ter, she could have reheved herself of many annoy¬ 
ances in the days that followed by allowing him the 
freedom of seeing her more often. The unattain¬ 
able is alluring, and Joey’s conquering spirit was 
fired by her opposition. He was not a modest young 
man; on the contrary, he was extremely popular 
with himself, and he firmly believed that if Maggie 
knew him better she would come to share that high 
regard. Accordingly, he interfered as much and as 
often as possible with her arrangements. 

Meanwhile, needless to say, Miss Knapp’s name 
continued to fall to him at the Creve-Cceur drawings, 
and between dance nights he called as often as pos- 

253 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


sible and stayed as late as he could. He took her to 
the Thursday-evening band concerts in Court House 
Square; he invited her to everything from the gradu¬ 
ating exercises at the Normal School to the dedica¬ 
tion of the Soldiers’ Monument at Madison. More 
often than not his invitations were refused, but the 
monotony of constant refusal is wearing, and there 
was a limit even to Miss Knapp’s inventive inge¬ 
nuity. By and large, her unwelcome admirer en¬ 
joyed a good deal of her society. 

Now do not imagine that Joey’s courtship was pur¬ 
sued in any haphazard manner. On the contrary, 
he had gone too deeply into the study of efficiency 
methods at Helm’s Business College to permit of 
that, and from the beginning he had had a definite 
system in mind. Efficiency is nine-tenths ‘^system,” 
anyhow; there is a system for everything, so he had 
learned. He applied elemental efficiency methods 
to his wooing, and, having full faith in the subject, 
he eptertained no doubt as to the ultimate outcome. 
To win Maggie Knapp meant only that he had to 
“sell” himself to her, and all selling problems in¬ 
volve similar principles, one of which is to show 
your goods. 

Being a born salesman, Joey displayed his slen¬ 
der stock of wares with utmost skill. He considered 
himself a literary man, therefore he spoke of other 
Indiana writers like George Ade, Booth Tarkington, 

254 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


James Whitcomb Riley, with the easy familiarity of 
a fellow craftsman. He called them by their first 
names. Being a dramatic critic, too—practically on 
the staff of the New York Dramatic Mirror —he 
made free to roast the theater with all the searching 
cynicism of his calling. But somehow he and 
Maggie continued to occupy separate ground. His 
up-to-date slang intrigued her but faintly; her 
knowledge of the drama remained purely academic; 
as for literature and music, her tastes were much 
higher than his. She appreciated only the best. 
^^When I was a Tadpole and You Were a Fish” and 
Chopin’s ^‘Funeral March” were her ideas of art. 
Joey, alas! was by nature a ragtime devotee; the 
limerick was his favorite art form. 

All great passions, from the time of Anthony and 
Cleopatra to that of Joey Dunn and Maggie Knapp, 
have issued in a climax more or less dramatic. The 
crisis in Joey’s life came one evening on the way 
home from a Creve-Cceur function. It was staged 
in the musty interior of a hack from the Depot Bus 
Line. Maggie had been more than usually beautiful 
that evening, more than usually gracious. Drunk 
with conquest, therefore, Joey possessed himself of 
one of her ungloved hands, and holding it in a jiu- 
jitsu grip, began in this highly original vein: 

‘T have something important to say to you, 
Maggie.” 


255 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


He ignored her futile efforts to free her fingers 
from his octopus-like grip and ran on with a quaver 
of intensity, “It means a great deal to me. I must 
speak.” 

“Go ahead and speak. I^m not stopping you.” 
Miss Knapp had suddenly become formal. Her 
abrupt change from tropic warmth to polar frigidity 
was not without its reaction upon Joey, but it merely 
added to his recklessness. 

“I’m leaving Lockport!” 

Now Joey was not leaving Lockport, so far as he 
knew. This statement was purely inspirational, but, 
in the language of the Dramatic Mirror, his act was 
dragging and he had to put some pep into it. More¬ 
over, he had somehow lost his grip upon his “system” 
and, for the moment at least, he had doubts of the 
efficiency methods taught by Professor Helm. On¬ 
ward he plunged, explaining mendaciously, “I’ve 
been offered a splendid opportunity in Chicago. Will 
you—will you wait for me?” 

There was a moment of strained silence, then, 
“Wait? Wait for what?” Miss Knapp’s voice was 
very flat. 

“Why, wait for me to make a success, so that I 
can come back and-” 

Joey’s lady of dreams freed her hand with a 
treacherous jerk, then spoke with the first genuine 
feeling she had ever displayed toward him. 

256 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


‘^Don’t be silly!’’ she cried, with a sharpness akin 
to anger. “I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re 
driving at, and I don’t want to know.” 

Thus ended Joey’s great moment. The rest of the 
ride was made in silence. When he left Maggie at 
her door he dismissed the hack as usual—thus saving 
twenty-five cents—then walked home alone with his 
sorrow. It was plain to him now that he had over¬ 
played his hand, and his pride writhed. To-morrow 
was the weekly meeting of the Entre Nous Society, 
and full well he knew that by night it would be all 
over town that he had made love to Maggie Knapp 
and had been put in his place. Vague memories of 
caustic Maude” letters rose to plague him. Re¬ 
sentment he knew lingered in the minds of those 
who had quivered at his poisoned shafts; they would 
delight in making him ridiculous. 

He had told Maggie he was going to Chicago. 
Well, he could see nothing left now but to do so. 
Why not swallow his grief in heroic dignity, go to the 
City, make a fortune, and return to Lockport, just 
to show her what a hideous mistake she had made? 
Joey pondered this thought briefly, then raising his 
thin face to the empty night sky, he announced his 
decision in a shaky voice, “The die is cast!” 

Nobody ever had much trouble in leaving Lock- 
port; it was not that kind of a town. The next day 
Joey drew his savings account and secured letters 

257 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

of recommendation from Major Parker of the 
Argus, Mayor Phillips, President Knapp of the 
First National, Cashier Pegland of the Union Trust 
Company, and Professor Helm of the Business Col¬ 
lege. The letters made an imposing array. They 
spoke so highly of Joey’s admirable character, of his 
sobriety, his industry, his talents, his Christian 
character, that nobody could have read them with¬ 
out experiencing extreme depression and without 
taking a violent dislike to such a paragon of youthful 
virtue. 

His last view of Lockport, as his train pulled 
out on the second morning, was of the new 
Phoenix Shirtwaist Factory which he had helped to 
^‘capture.” 

n 

Perhaps tlie reader anticipates, with natural re¬ 
pugnance, a history of Joey Dunn’s heart-breaking 
struggle to find work, or even a dramatic story of 
his rapid rise to affluence through a display of latent 
ability. If so, then this account has failed correctly 
to sketch the young man’s make-up. In the first 
place, Joey was not the sort to go long without a 
job. As a matter of fact, no normal young man in 
these days can very well evade work unless he de¬ 
votes his entire time to it, and Joey was immoder¬ 
ately, extravagantly normal. To be sure, his letters 
258 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


of recommendation were a handicap, but he soon 
realized that fact and laid them away, and a few 
days thereafter became engaged as bill clerk in a 
South Water Street butter-and-egg house at fifteen 
dollars per week—double the salary he had deserted 
at Lockport. 

Followed long hours of hard work, a dreary pro¬ 
cession of North Side boarding houses, all bad and 
some worse; a social life limited to boarding-house 
acquaintances and evening chats on boarding-house 
steps. 

Joey did not remain overlong with the butter-and- 
egg concern. Once he had obtained a superficial 
familiarity with it, he undertook to install certain 
of those ‘^systems’’ he had learned at Helm’s Busi¬ 
ness College, with the result that he was fired. 

After that job came one in a department store, 
another in a paint factory, a fourth in the estimat¬ 
ing department of a bridge works, next a position as 
t>q)ist in an addressing agency, another as tabulator 
in a real-estate office. These were not all. In the 
next few years Joey changed jobs almost as fre¬ 
quently, and quite as willingly, as he changed 
boarding houses. At the end of that time there re¬ 
mained the prospect of unlimited numbers of both 
ahead of him, but precious little else, so far as he 
could see. 

When the smart of his last discharge had eased, 

259 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

Joey took stock of himself and realized that it was 
high time that he did so. Here he was at the ad¬ 
vanced age of twenty-iour, and with a scant thou¬ 
sand dollars in the bank. This despite the fact that 
his habits were good, his health better—except for 
the inevitable ravages of boarding-house hash and 
underdone beans—and that he was both aggressive 
and industrious. What then was wrong with him? 
Why was it that jobs fairly fastened themselves upon 
him, and that he slipped out of them with the same 
regularity that a snake slips out of its skin? He 
was practical, honest, accurate, systematic, and am¬ 
bitious. He wondered if he was too ambitious. 
But, no, ambition is a virtue recognized in all copy 
books. Perhaps he was too systematic. That 
seemed more likely to be the trouble—he ran natu¬ 
rally to “systems’^; in fact, he had one for an)d:hing, 
everything. Now that he thought of it, the moving 
cause for most of his dismissals seemed to have been 
that very thing— viz.y his ill-considered attempts to 
better existing methods. His last employer, for in¬ 
stance, had told him-, with insulting bluntness, that 
he was trying to run the shop, whereas said shop 
had limped along very well before his arrival and 
would doubtless continue so to do after his de¬ 
parture, which he requested Joey to make simul¬ 
taneous with the coming pay day. 

260 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


Yes, that was it! He was too systematic—or 
else other people were not systematic enough. 

Joey did not arrive at this conviction with the 
directness here set down; it came at the cost of long, 
thoughtful hours, but the more he analyzed himself 
the more plainly he seemed to discern the reef upon 
which he had grounded. The trouble was he had 
offered suggestions where they were not wanted, and 
unsolicited advice is always offensive. Joey was not 
original, but he did have the average talent for clear 
reasoning, and what is more he had acquired suffi¬ 
cient vision to behold the obvious, unless it hap¬ 
pened to be too close to him. Furthermore, having 
seen it, he had the ability to capitalize it, and in this 
he showed his nearest approach to genius. 

Rarely does the great inventor, the man of untried 
methods, the startlingly original man, make a great 
success. More often reward comes to the man who 
recognizes the obvious thing, takes advantage of it, 
and makes it work for him. Had Joey spoken aloud 
he would have said something like this: 

^T’ve been wrong in trying to reform businesses 
that don^t need reforming. Then, too, I gave advice. 
Anything you give away becomes cheap; put a price 
on it and people may think it is worth something, 
whether it is or not. I got in Dutch by trying to 
cure successful concerns, and no doctor gets rich 
feeding pills to well people.” 

261 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Young Mr. Dunn reasoned logically to the next 
step, and decided that in the future he must reform 
failures—and be paid for so doing. 

By now his experience was wide; beneath that 
experience lay a solid theoretical bedrock of business 
principles as taught by Professor Helm. He made 
up his mind, therefore, to become a doctor to sick 
business, an industrial engineer, an efficiency 
expert. 

Following this decision, he rented and furnished 
an office in a downtown elevator building, had his 
name painted on the door, and put a card in all of 
the magazines devoted to commercial organization 
work. His daylight hours he spent on the street 
cars that ran through the manufacturing districts, 
and whenever he observed a run-down plant, or a 
factory that appeared to lack prosperity, he noted 
the name, then wrote an alluring “personah^ letter 
to the president, signed “Jos. Dunn, Assets Realiza¬ 
tions.^’ 

Joey got some rises to this bait. He called and 
talked theories of “motion economy,” “efficiency,” 
and the like, but in every instance, when he arrived 
at a discussion of his retaining fee, interest in his 
services abruptly ceased. It reminded him of his 
wooing of Maggie Knapp. 

A couple of months of this, and Joey realized that 
he had a “motion” problem of his own to solve— 
262 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


namely, an all-going-out-and-nothing-coming-in mo¬ 
tion. It was quite contrary to his and Professor 
Helm’s theories; it seemed to contradict his belief 
that principles are undying and, correctly applied, 
must bear results. The time came when Joey’s rent 
bill looked like Belgium’s account for damages; 
nevertheless, he kept a stiff upper lip and maintained 
implicit faith in himself. 

One day he received a note from the Biggs Buggy 
and Body Company, asking Mr. Dunn to call at his 
earliest convenience. Mr. Dunn’s earliest conven¬ 
ience was at once, or even sooner, but, appreciating 
the psychology of leisurely action, he waited—long 
enough for his heartbeats to cease choking him—> 
before raising Mr. Biggs himself by phone. 

“Mr. Dunn speaking,” he began, rapidly. “I have 
your letter in my morning mail, but I’m just finish¬ 
ing an important report for an Eastern client. 
Would to-morrow do?” 

He heard a grunt. “Oh, sure! Next week—any 
time, I guess. There is really no-” 

“Very well,” Joey interrupted. “To-morrow at 
ten.” 

Nine thirty found the youthful expert in assets 
realization in the vicinity of the Biggs plant. He 
had heroically tried to hold himself back, but he had 
failed, so he took the occasion to make a careful 
scrutiny of the factory. It was shabby, ill kept; 

263 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


behind the main building several ramshackle lean- 
tos overran the lot, piles of lumber and racks of steel 
were poorly sheltered from the weather by sagging 
sheds. 

The office, itself, however, when Joey entered, was 
surprisingly clean and businesslike and he was 
quickly shown in to Mr. Biggs. The latter was a 
full-faced worried man in a shiny alpaca office coat; 
he regarded Joey not unpleasantly over his glasses. 

Mr, Biggs began frankly enough: ‘T saw your 

ad. and sent for you, but- If He paused while his 

amiable eyes measured his caller from head to foot 
“You’re a much younger man than I expected.” The 
speaker’s look of doubt was eloquent. 

“I’m getting over that at the rate of one year per 
annum,” Joey told him, with a grin, then assuming 
a smart, business-like brevity: “I deal in results, 
Mr. Biggs. That is all I sell, that is all you’re inter¬ 
ested in.” 

Mr. Biggs nodded, and began again: “Well, there’s 
something wrong with us; I don’t know what it is. 
We’ve been in business here for twenty-five years, 
and we’ve made money. But for the last year we’ve 
been losing it. I’ve had to yell for help. It seems 
foolish to turn to a youngster like you who doesn’t 
know the business. First off, what’s your charge?” 

Joey had learned something of efficiency during 
these past months, therefore he had anticipated this 
264 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


question and his answer was ready. “If I can’t help 
you, I shan’t ask any fee. When I have a remedy— 
the remedy—I’ll talk price, and show you what 
you’re paying for.” 

To this Mr. Biggs murmured, “Fair, I should 
say.” 

“In the meantime,” Joey resumed, briskly, “I’ll 
merely ask for a nominal drawing account of five 
dollars for each day I put in on the job. It will 
probably take me a month to correctly diagnose your 
difficulty.” 

“That’s better than I hoped for,” Mr. Biggs con¬ 
fessed. “Most of you efficiency engineers are mainly 
interested in the size of your retainers.” 

Joey realized with supreme relief that his own 
efficiency problem was solved, temporarily at least, 
now that something was coming in, and he figured 
rapidly that he had thirty days of grace in which to 
dope out the trouble with the Buggy Company. 
Surely he could do it in that time; then it would 
doubtless require another thirty days to install his 
system and try it out, whatever that system might 
prove to be. Sixty days—three hundred dollars. 
Manna from heaven! 

“I have my own method of approach in these mat¬ 
ters,” he told Mr. Biggs, “and I propose to spend 
the first week or two in your factory.” To this the 
latter agreed readily enough. 

265 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


It did not occur to Joey to demand the history 
sheets of the company in the shape of its last few 
annual statements; instead he plunged into an im¬ 
mediate study of the plant itself. 

The factory he found to be equipped with presses 
for shaping steel buggy bodies; there was a machine, 
a blacksmith, and a paint shop, together with an 
assembling room. Few men were employed—far 
fewer than the size of the establishment warranted— 
and they were engaged in building special bodies for 
coupes and hacks. The entire place was well kept; 
nevertheless, there was an atmosphere of inertia, of 
idleness enveloping it. After examining the plant, 
Joey carried his inspection out into the yard and 
estimated the stock of materials carried. Having 
finished this, he knew no more than when he started, 
which was quite natural inasmuch as he had been 
figuring backward, from effect to cause. 

For a week Joey Dunn studied that plant, and al¬ 
though he maintained a pose of deep concentration, 
although he pretended to make discoveries that 
pleased and satisfied him, in reality he was utterly 
stumped, completely at sea. His smattering ac¬ 
quaintance with “motion problems,’^ factory sched¬ 
uling, planning, routing, and the like gained at 
Helm^s Business College, availed him nothing; nor 
could he draw for help upon his practical experi¬ 
ence, for the latter had been confined to routine 
266 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


clerical work. Of financing, of administrative func¬ 
tioning and up-to-date sales and purchasing methods, 
he knew as little as a child. 

Joey, in the meantime, had become acquainted 
with most of the employees and he was uncomfort¬ 
ably aware of their curiosity concerning him. He 
realized that they looked upon him as the business 
Elijah, the commercial prestidigitator, and were 
waiting for him to take the rabbit out of the hat. 
At a complete standstill finally, he approached 
McCormick, the superintendent, and inquired 
frankly, 

‘‘Say, Mac, what the deuce ails this factory, any¬ 
how? Everybody is on their toes, the work goes for¬ 
ward well enough, and the machinery is O. K.” 

Mac smiled. “It ain’t hard to see what ails us; 
we’re behind the times. People ain’t buying buggies, 
that’s all. They’re buying automobiles, and we’d 
ought to be making automobile bodies.” 

“Well, why don’t you?” 

The superintendent laughed. “The reason is be¬ 
cause we’d need new equipment, new dies, new 
salesmen, a new factory with more floor space, new 
customers, and—new capital. I don’t think of any 
other reasons, but there may be some.” 

Mr. Dunn, efficiency expert, saw a great light. 
He was tempted to kick himself. He realized that 
he had overlooked the obvious, and he vowed never 
267 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


again to do so. Tools, machinery, factory, salesmen, 
customers, and money, that was all the Biggs Body 
and Buggy Company needed. Simple, wasn^t it? 
Well, hell needed a good climate and nice people, 
and no doubt credit for that discovery belonged to 
some other efficiency expert. What now concerned 
Joey was the proper prescription to write, for his 
own task was not merely to diagnose, but also to 
cure. Lacking that ability, he must confess himself 
a quack. 

Dinner that evening for Joey Dunn was not an 
expensive meal. In the presence of this new prob¬ 
lem his stomach refused to function, as completely 
as did his brain, and for the first time vague doubts 
of his ability as an efficiency engineer assailed him. 
And yet, he reasoned bravely, principle is immu¬ 
table; the mere fact that there is a wrong way to do 
business argues that there must be a right way. 

He sat late, thinking deeply, but to no avail, and 
then for relief before going to bed he opened and 
read his weekly number of the Lockport Argus. 
He had always kept up his subscription to the paper, 
for it remained the one link connecting him with his 
past and with Maggie Knapp. Lockport had grown 
some, these last few years; its prosperity had lik^ 
wise increased, but signs of other changes Joey could 
not detect. The same people figured in the local 
column; Welch Travis had bought the O. K. Drug 
268 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


Store; the Creve-Coeur Club dances were now being 
held in the new Elks’ Hall; Miss Margaret Knapp 
had returned from a trip abroad; Mr. Pegland had 
sciatica. 

Joey smiled at memory of the ‘‘Maude” letters and 
his night work in the carriage plant. Funny that he 
should be working at this moment for a similar con¬ 
cern. And the Phoenix Shirtwaist Factory, employ¬ 
ing over one hundred hands, which he had helped to 
capture. How far away it all seemed, how 
funny— All of a sudden Mr. Dunn’s eyes wid¬ 
ened and a startled look crept into them; for a mo¬ 
ment he sat motionless, then he leaped to his feet 
and addressed himself thus: 

“Why, you poor simp, are you blind? Can’t 
you see anything when it’s right under your nose? 
Here’s the answer—it’s perfectly obvious.” 

Joey startled Mr. Biggs the next morning with 
the abrupt announcement, “Well, sir, I’m ready to 
make my recommendations and state my terms.” 

Mr. Biggs looked up with some interest. 

“To begin with, the demand for buggies is over, 
but your organization and experience equips you 
for the manufacture of automobile bodies. For that 
you need more presses, new dies, more floor space 
and yard room, new buildings, salesmen, customers, 
and capital.” 

Mr. Biggs nodded calmly. “Am I supposed to pay 
269 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


you five dollars a day for telling me something IVe 
known for two years?” 

Joey waved aside the question. ^^You furnish the 
salesmen and the customers, I’ll get the rest.” 

Joey met Mr. Biggs’s incredulous gaze with a 
confident smile. ^T’ll secure ample factory build¬ 
ings, more yard room than you need, and enough 
capital to buy the machinery to start you off. Now 
for my terms.” 

Mr. Biggs nodded and exclaimed, “Yes! Now 
for the catch.” 

“There’s no catch about it,” Joey warmly de¬ 
clared. “This is my line of business, my specialty. 
My terms are-” Despite the speaker’s assur¬ 

ance his voice became throaty and he could barely 
control its quaver. “My terms will be a twenty per 
cent stock interest in the reorganized company, and 
twenty per cent of all the money I raise. All I 
need is your authority to go ahead, and a contract 
covering the agreement.” 

Mr. Biggs blinked, gasped faintly, then said, 
doubtfully: “I—don’t believe you can do it. You 
ain’t old enough. But—it won’t hurt to try. Go 
ahead and draw up your papers.” 

That afternoon Joey wrote a letter on the station¬ 
ery of the Biggs Body and Buggy Company to the 
Madison City Chamber of Commerce, asking if that 
270 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


organization cared to offer inducements which might 
lead his company, employing two hundred men, to 
locate there. The same mail carried a letter on his 
personal stationery to Mr. Elbert G. Knapp, presi¬ 
dent of the Lockport Chamber of Commerce. It 
was marked “Confidential,” and Joey spent consider¬ 
able time in drafting it. 

Within twenty-four hours came telegrams from 
both cities, and soon thereafter delegations of 
prominent citizens followed. The latter interviewed 
Mr. Biggs and within a week there began a mighty 
warfare between the rival towns. The battle raged 
for a month; its outcome was reported in the Lock- 
port Argus under the following scare head: 

LOCKPORT LANDS BIGGS AUTO BODY 
COMPANY. 

Beneath this was a story of the success of the 
Chamber of Commerce in locating “this mammoth 
company, employing two hundred men, in our fair 
city.” As an inducement, it was announced, the 
company had been given suitable factory buildings 
on a ten-acre tract, the former home of the Lockport 
Carriage Works, now defunct, and a cash bonus of 
twenty-five thousand dollars. “Credit for bringing 
this gigantic enterprise to our fair city,” so ran the 
Argusy “belongs to Mr. Jos. Dunn, a former Lock- 
port boy and quondam contributor to these colunms. 

271 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Mr. Dunn, or Joey, as he is still known to his hosts 
of admiring Lockport friends, has gained a world¬ 
wide reputation as a captain of industry and an effi¬ 
ciency expert. In securing for his native town the 
Biggs Auto Body Company—of which Mr. Dunn 
chances to be vice-president—he has not only gained 
a splendid home for his institution, but also he has 
caused the red corpuscles of energized blood to pulse 
anew through the veins of Lockport. Madison City 
fought hard to get this great modern enterprise, but 
the superior attractions of our fair city, and the 
aggressiveness of her citizens, brilliantly generaled 
by President Knapp of the Chamber of Commerce 
and the Improvement Association, were forces too 
potent for our sleepy neighbor beside the Lake. We 
predict she will sink back into her accustomed 
lethargy only to become semiconscious at hourly 
intervals when the Interurban arrives from Lock- 
port-” 

There were three columns of it. In the privacy of 
his Chicago hall bedroom, Joey Dunn devoured 
‘^'every word, then he sat long with the paper in his 
hand. What a tide of memories this issue of the 
Argus brought back! By what a little margin he 
had missed failure in this, his first successful step. 
Well, he had learned his lesson. He would quit 
straining after laborious effects and great inspira¬ 
tions; he would train himself to exercise just ordi- 
272 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


nary, uninspired common sense and to do the 
obvious thing, but do it better than the other fellow. 

It was time now to make a triumphal return to 
his boyhood home and to pick up the broken frag¬ 
ments of his one great romance. Something told him 
he could fit them together again, for he knew that 
Maggie Knapp was still free. 

Ill 

Joey took a room for the week end at the Lock- 
port Hotel, then he called upon Mr. Knapp. He 
found no need to hint for an invitation to the Knapp 
home; before he had been five minutes in the bank¬ 
er's office the latter had insisted that he come to 
dinner that very night. 

That first evening with Maggie was the most thrill¬ 
ing that Joey had ever experienced. The girl had 
changed greatly, as she showed by welcoming him 
with a graciousness and a warmth entirely at vari¬ 
ance with her attitude in those days when he had 
openly courted her. Nor was she any longer the 
spoiled daughter of a small-town banker. She had 
developed into a well-poised young woman of the 
world, mistress of herself and of so many social ac¬ 
complishments that Joey became very self-conscious, 
very awkward in her presence. She flattered him 
immensely by calling him ^^Joey’’ and by insisting 

273 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

that to him she was “Maggie,” as always. As a 
matter of fact, she never had been “Maggie” to 
him, except on the disastrous occasion of that last 
hack ride, and then, as he well remembered, without 
her own consent. 

Mr. Knapp was proud of his daughter; he con¬ 
veyed the impression that all Lockport was vain of 
her accomplishments, her beauty, and that she was 
still the toast of the town—a fact which Joey had 
no mind to question. 

Warmed by their friendliness during dinner, Joey 
yielded to a talkative impulse and confessed to the 
shameless methods he had pursued in drawing Mag¬ 
gie’s name for the Creve-Coeur dances. Both Mr. 
Knapp and his daughter genuinely enjoyed the story, 
and Maggie conveyed her grateful appreciation of 
the implied compliment. 

“You can’t hold down a boy like that,” Mr. Knapp 
declared, admiringly. 

“It all seems ages ago,” Maggie smiled reminis¬ 
cently. “You would never know the club now.” 

“Of course you still go to the dances?” 

Miss Knapp shook her head. “Not often. My 
reading and my music keep me pretty busy.” 

“Maggie must play for you,” Mr. Knapp broke in. 
“She’s making music her life’s work, you know, and 
—well, wait till you hear her! She could have gone 
on the concert stage. She’s head of the McDowell 

2^4 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


Club, and president of the Literary Forum, and 
organizer of the Ladies’ Club for the Study and 
Advancement of the Short Story, and-” 

Miss Knapp implored her father not to bore 
Joey with the uninteresting details of her activities, 
then explained, ‘Tockport is a dear little town and I 
adore it, but”—her lovely brows arched plaintively 
—‘dt doesn’t stimulate or broaden one. There is no 
intellectual or artistic contact, and—that makes it 
hard.” 

During the evening she played for Joey, brilliantly 
interpreting classics that he neither understood nor 
appreciated. She discussed academic topics of the 
day with a fluency that he could not match; she told 
him of her busy life; she described her impressions 
of the Norwegian fjords, and discussed Florentine 
tapestries. 

Failing to obtain any vital response, she tried him 
out on literature, and, finding him absent without 
leave, shifted back to Lockport doings, all with a 
tact so delicate as to arouse his keenest admiration. 

Maggie had always been a pretty girl and her 
prettiness had ripened into positive beauty. Money, 
culture, travel had been hers; why, then, Joey 
asked himself, was she unmarried? He repeated this 
question more than once during the evening, and 
when he left the Knapp home at a late hour he pro¬ 
pounded another query to himself, viz., why was it 

275 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


that, despite her very patent efforts to be extremely 
nice to him, she had left him utterly cold? 

By the time Joey had arrived at his hotel he was 
forced to acknowledge the unwelcome truth. His 
dream was out, his romance was smashed—into 
smaller bits now than on that night in the Depot 
Bus Line carriage. Gone entirely was his desire for 
the girl. It was strange; he could not understand it. 
He had arrived at the Knapp home that evening full 
of enthusiasm for his own work, bursting with tid¬ 
ings of his accomplishments, eager to share them with 
the one girl in whom he had ever taken a sentimental 
interest, the one girl who had always lived in his 
thoughts, but he had interested her as little as she 
had interested him. He had talked about himself 
when occasion offered—being a normal male human 
being, that was his favorite indoor pastime—but he 
had failed to stir her. For the first time he suspected 
himself of being a shallow, uninspired, commonplace 
person, very tiresome and dull to everybody except 
himself. Maggie, on the contrary, was splendid, 
only it took too much brains to appreciate her. She 
was out of his class. It was mighty nice of her to 
give herself so prodigally, and he had to hand it to 
that finishing school. It had certainly done its 
work well. But—it was all a very great disappoint¬ 
ment to him. 

The Biggs Auto Body Company prospered in its 
276 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


new home, and that prosperity was reflected in the 
fortunes of Joey Dunn. Calls began to come in upon 
him from various directions, and within a short time 
he had found a home in Lockport for another con¬ 
cern, the Atlas Tile and Culvert Company. He 
had learned the formula now; he did not try to im¬ 
prove upon it. 

Like a hawk he soared abroad, looking for crip¬ 
pled business concerns, and he swooped down upon 
them much as that predatory bird swoops down 
upon motherless chicks, but instead of destroying 
them he bore them back to Lockport—and other 
towns—and gave them a new lease of life. It paid 
him well; he became known to sundry chambers of 
commerce and improvement associations throughout 
the State, and although his ‘^systems’^ and advanced 
forms of office procedure were not revolutionary, 
nevertheless he delivered the kind of goods needed— 
namely, new blood in the form of capital, new plants 
and locations—and therefore his clients hailed him 
as a deliverer. It was a sort of root-pruning process, 
and in the increased fruitage thereof he shared. 

Of course the game worked both ways. Lockport 
profited by the coming of these new plants, and the 
more of them it assimilated the hungrier it grew. 
Joey landed the Vulcan Forge Company, the Ajax 
Roofing Corporation, the Agile Knitting Works, the 
277 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Ever Ready Biscuit plant, and the Miracle Soap 
Factory. 

Three years of this and he found that he was 
well-to-do. He had interests in a dozen growing 
concerns, he was a director in many of them, and 
he had considerable outside investments. He was 
on the board of the First National Bank of Lock- 
port, and an influence in the town. 

Naturally he saw much of Maggie Knapp, for he 
spent a good deal of time in Lockport. She, too, 
had continued her growth. Everyone spoke of her 
as a very “superior’’ young lady, her time and her 
talents were in constant demand, and of both she 
gave without stint. But she did not marry. Joey 
discovered that while she was considered popular, 
she never had much company, and such young men 
as called did so formally and in ever-diminishing 
numbers. 

It was a puzzle to Joey Dunn. He admired Mag¬ 
gie immensely, and he genuinely liked her, but there 
his sentiment ended. This in itself was the more 
puzzling because she had arrived at that age when 
her capabilities were fullest and when she should 
have inspired real love in any ordinary man. 

During one of his visits Maggie spoke to him in 
- some concern. 

“You remember the old Phoenix Shirtwaist Fac¬ 
tory?” she began. “Well, it has become one of our 
278 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


problems, and father says you are the only man who 
can help the town out.” 

presume you mean it is in a bad way finan¬ 
cially?” 

‘‘Yes, but that’s not the point. Father says the 
company is going to retain you—I think that’s the 
word—anyhow, they are going to get you to give 
them more money or something. I don’t understand 
business, it doesn’t interest me in the least, but here 
is something I do understand. It is becoming im¬ 
possible to keep servants in this own, for the girls 
all go to the Shirtwaist Factory. They’d rather be 
employees than hired girls—they get better pay and 
the hours are shorter. In my social-welfare work 
I’ve found that a workingman can hardly get a wife 
in this town.” Miss Knapp’s intelligent brown eyes 
were eloquent of this tragedy. When Joey asked 
her to go on she continued, “The Phoenix Shirtwaist 
Factory is a bad thing for the town, a—a- ” 

“Liability?” 

“Exactly. For goodness sake don’t save it. Let 
it go to smash.” 

Joey pondered this request with some interest. 
“That shocks everything in me,” he confessed, “but 
I’ll see what I can do to save the servant problem 
and perpetuate the working class.” He looked up, 
then continued, “You’re a peculiar girl, Maggie. 
I-” 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘‘Yes?” 

“If I knew you better I^d like to have a frank talk 
with you.” 

“Why, Joey! Who knows me better than you?” 

But Joey shook his head in some embarrassment. 
“Maybe I’ll have something to ask you one of these 
days—a proposition to make.” 

Maggie stirred; the fainest additional tinge of 
color came into her smooth cheeks. “You should 
be able to say anything you wish to me. You’re my 
—very best friend.” 

A few days later the Phoenix Shirtwaist Company 
offered Joey a proposition to reorganize its business, 
and he accepted, upon a profitable basis. He exam¬ 
ined its buildings and decided they would be suitable 
to house a gasping Laundry Machine Company 
which had appealed to him for oxygen, and that 
afternoon he drove over to Madison City. Joey 
had never liked Madison City, therefore he handed it 
the Phoenix Shirtwaist Factory and placed the 
Laundry Machine Company in its old plant. In due 
time the Madison City Dispatch carried a heavy- 
leaded leader on its front page reading: 

MADISON CITY CAPTURES THE HUGE 
PHCENIX SHIRTWAIST FACTORY 

and the youthful financier found himself upon the 
directorate of two new corporations. 

280 


THE OBVIOUS THING 


Factories were beginning to pall upon Joey Dunn 
by this time; he was beginning to think about con¬ 
solidations. He was bored at his accommodations 
at the Lockport Hotel, and the big city called him, 
nevertheless he lingered, for there yet remained one 
problem in efficiency that intrigued his deepest in¬ 
terest as an expert. 

It was his business and his hobby to analyze fail¬ 
ures, to reorganize them, and to make them into 
successes. The most pronounced failure, the plain¬ 
est example of an unprofitable concern—it was the 
hardened efficiency man thinking—was Margaret 
Knapp. She had everything. Why didn’t she sell, 
attract, show results? Here was a rich, beautiful, 
accomplished girl. Why did she repel men? Why 
was she practically off the marriage market? It 
was a case that would have appealed to any specialist 
in the business of assets realizations, and one which 
no expert in that calling could have ignored. 

Joey believed the reason to be obvious, but whether 
he would be permitted to effect a cure was another 
matter. Nevertheless, having a remedy—a “system” 
—^he could not resist putting it to the test. 

Maggie was entertaining him the next evening, 
giving much of herself, as usual, and demanding 
nothing of him, when without any warning he in¬ 
quired. 

“How old are you, Maggie?” 

281 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘‘What a funny question!’^ she exclaimed. “DonT 
you know?” 

“You’re nearly thirty.” There was a pause, 
“Don’t you like men?” 

“Why—yes.” 

“Lockport men?” 

Miss Knapp shrugged. “As well as any. They’re 
pretty narrow, that’s all. I’ve studied, traveled, seen 
more than they.” 

“There are some big chaps here—fellows who will 
be heard from.” 

“Possibly, but we seem to have very little in 
common.” 

Joey persisted in his catechism. “Do you care for 
women?” He was reading Maggie’s books—her 
annual statements—preparatory to diagnosing the 
cause for her failure as a woman; in him was noth¬ 
ing more personal than the zeal of the keen, inquir¬ 
ing, commercial expert. 

“Not particularly,” Maggie told him. “But why 
this cross-examination?” 

“I told you I’d have something to ask you one of 
these days—a proposition to make. Well-” 

Miss Knapp nodded. She paled a trifle, but her 
eyes continued steadfastly to meet his. While Joey 
was searching for the right words with which to con¬ 
tinue, she said, gently, “Why don’t you speak out?” 

282 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


‘‘Because I don’t want to risk losing your friend¬ 
ship.” 

Miss Knapp made an eloquent little gesture. 
Something, perhaps the growing intensity of her re¬ 
gard, made Joey uncomfortable, therefore he broke 
out briskly in his most professional manner. 

“Maggie, I’m a doctor, a diagnostician of business 
concerns. I’ve made a success of selling efficiency 
methods. Usually I’m well paid, but this time I 
volunteer my services. I’ve diagnosed you, and I 
want to prescribe.” 

Miss Knapp gasped, “Prescribe? For what? 
What on earth-?” 

During the next few minutes Joey Dunn lectured 
on efficiency, commercial, social, personal. When 
his hearer finally sensed the drift of his remarks she 
listened midway between tears and laughter, between 
anger and amusement. It was no small tribute to 
her character that she heard him through, for, as 
delicately as he could put the matter, his conclu¬ 
sions were anything but complimentary. 

There was a queer timbre to the girl’s voice when 
she murmured, finally: “Perhaps I have failed utterly 
as a woman, at least in your eyes, but—it’s hard to 
forgive a man, even a dear friend, for saying so. 
Just out of curiosity, however, I’d like to hear your 
cure for this—this so-called lack of efficiency.” 

“It’s simple enough if you analyze it as I have,” 
283 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Joey declared, with conviction. ^‘You give too much 
of yourself and you take nothing. That’s your 
trouble, Maggie. The test of a person is the reaction 
he or she sets up in others—the profit he takes. 
You live in your own world, you never go out of it 
and into the other person’s world. You fill the eye 
and the ear completely, satisfactorily, but your own 
are empty. You arouse only admiration for your 
own accomplishments and your splendid character. 
Now then, you’ve got to learn to awaken other 
people’s appreciation of themselves and of their 
characters. You’ve got to learn to listen and to 
understand. You’ve got to get into the other fel¬ 
low’s life and take an interest in it. Then watch 
him respond! Why, when I first came here to see 
you I was dying to tell you a lot of things about my¬ 
self, but—I’ve never yet got around to it. You didn’t 
let me. They say it is more blessed to give than to 
receive. Bunk! Language is full of pernicious 
falsehoods like that. Encourage others to give^— 
the very best that’s in them. Understand, I’m talk¬ 
ing professionally; there is nothing personal-” 

Miss Knapp burst into a tremulous laugh. “Of 
course. But what shall I gain by all this? Mar¬ 
riage? What makes you think I want to marry?” 

“Every woman does,” Joey declared. “Besides, 
you’re too splendid to be an old maid. I can make 
you one hundred per cent efficient, Maggie, if you’ll 
284 



THE OBVIOUS THING 


let me. Will you permit me to—to reorganize you? 
Will you let me install my system, and give it a fair 
trial 

“Perhaps.’’ 

“Good! I always assume that to mean yes. So 
we’ll start right now by cutting out the giving and by 
teaching you how blessed it is to receive. Lockport 
is a town of young business concerns and young 
business men, all growing. I’m going to teach you 
more about the world those fellows live in than they 
know themselves.” 

“And all so that I can marry some rising financial 
genius?” 

For the life of him Joey could not determine what 
emotion caused the catch in Miss Kmapp’s voice, 
what accounted for the strained look about her 
eyes. Very professionally he said, “We’ll leave the 
result to take care of itself. I intend to make you 
into a going concern.” 

Many evenings with Miss Knapp followed this 
heart-to-heart talk, busy evenings for both expert and 
experted. The lust of the efficiency man was in 
Joey’s blood and he was too deeply engrossed in his 
hobby to heed anything except results. He ex¬ 
pounded, now on the advantages of the time clock as 
against registry sheets in factories, again upon open 
shops as against tightly unionized plants, or the 
Macy system for determining overheads. He and 

285 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Maggie went to the movies, but only to look at pic¬ 
tures of automobile manufacture, the evolution of 
the American locomotive, or modern methods of 
deep mining. More than once the girl found her 
part hard to play—found little of interest in an 
advanced discussion of the modern tendencies of 
collective bargaining or the theory of the mariner’s 
compass—but she resolutely held herself to her 
purpose. 

And she proved to be an apt pupil. Joey dis¬ 
covered that she had a brain, a personality, a depth 
of intellect which surprised even him who knew her 
best. Results came in due time and Joey rejoiced. 
Men began coming to the Knapp home, and they 
stayed longer than formerly. Maggie began to re¬ 
fuse invitations out, as in the old days, her evenings 
with Joey became more and more infrequent, and 
he realized, with the glow of an enthusiast, that his 
efforts were gaining ground. He had all but added 
one more success to his credit. 

One day they drove over to Gary to visit the steel 
mills, and spent a strenuous afternoon following the 
ore through its butterfly changes, from the red 
chrysalis to the pig, then into the open-hearth fur¬ 
naces, out through the clashing rolls, and on to its 
final structural shapes. To Joey the mammoth plant 
was an inspiring example of efficiency energized. 
Here dwelt the god of twentieth-century commerce in 
286 


THE OBVIOUS THING 

all his naked strength and splendor, here was typi¬ 
fied the essence of modern life and accomplishment. 

They had dinner together, then rode home through 
the night, and Joey broke the news of his first big 
consolidation, a scheme he had been working on for 
some time, and the negotiations for which had ar¬ 
rived at a point where he would soon have to leave 
Lockport for the East. 

Maggie listened so well, her brief comments were 
so much to the point, so anticipative, so intelligent, 
that he went into more detail than he had intended. 
Under the urge of her quick understanding, he 
talked rapidly, and as he talked his vision quickened, 
his imagination kindled, he began to see possibilities 
he had not before discerned. There in that limou¬ 
sine, spurred on by the keen appreciation of this 
girl, his enterprise took definite, formal shape. He 
paused finally, exhausted. 

After a while Maggie told him, “Idl miss you ter¬ 
ribly when you go, Joey.” 

He smiled down at her. ‘When I get back we’ll 
go on with the course. Shall we?” 

But Miss Knapp shook her head and nestled her 
chin' closer into the fur at her neck. “The course is 
finished,” she declared. Ignoring his start of sur¬ 
prise, she explained. “Your theories were correct, 
Joey, and the results are just what you said they 
287 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


would be. I’m a going concern. Roger Britton has 
asked me to marry him.” 

^‘What?” Joey leaned closer, with an expression 
of shocked incredulity upon his face. His eyes wid¬ 
ened; they searched Maggie’s countenance in sud¬ 
den bewilderment, reproach, anxiety. He took the 
girl’s hand in his and stammered, 

‘‘Roger Britton! Why, he’s a perfect fool! Mag¬ 
gie—Margaret dear, you wouldn’t marry him?” 

There was a queer brightness to Miss Knapp’s 
gaze as it met Joey’s, but she spoke quietly: 

“I didn’t know you disapproved of Roger.” 

—I-Joey swallowed hard, for it was news 

to him also, but of a sudden he had taken a most 
positive dislike to Mr. Britton. The man was an 
ass, a presumptuous upstart. There was no doubt 
of it. 

“He says I have been a great help to him,” 
Maggie continued. “My understanding and my 
interest in his affairs have been an inspiration, so he 


“Inspiration! Of course. You inspire everybody. 
You’ve inspired me—just now, right here to-night. 

Why-” Joey withdrew himself slightly, for at that 

instant he saw his companion in an altogether new 
light and the effect was bewildering. Maggie mar¬ 
ried! To Roger Britton! It was impossible. 

Joey sat open mouthed and open eyed, yet un- 
288 





THE OBVIOUS THING 


breathing, unseeing, and meanwhile Maggie regarded 
him with that same queer fixed look of bright in¬ 
quiry and defiance. Had he been as observant as 
usual he would have noted, perhaps, that her teeth 
were set in her lower lip as if to still its quivering 
and that her throat, beneath the deep fur neck¬ 
piece, was swelling as if she too had difficulty in 
swallowing. Had he been able to read her mind he 
would have been amazed at her panicky repetition 
of one of his elemental efficiency maxims to the 
effect that the prime essential of salesmanship is in 
knowing when and how to close a deal. 

But Joey’s gaze was turned inward and he saw 
nothing except himself; his thoughts were tumbling. 
They tumbled forth finally in speech, and he cried, 
desperately: 

“Oh, Margaret! Roger doesn’t love you—^he 
canH love you as—as I do. Why, dear-” 

What more Joey Dunn said he never knew, but he 
found Margaret in his arms at last and his lips were 
damp with her kisses. Her face was close to his, a 
lasting contentment was written upon it. 

It must have been some time later that he urged, 
eagerly, joyously, “Let’s be married quickly, so that 
you can go East with me Monday.” When she hesi¬ 
tated, he ran on: “Please, dear, I need you so. 
Why, we’ll put over that consolidation together, you 
and I!” 


289 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


At this Margaret nodded, and her eyes sparkled 
through their misty lashes. “Perhaps it would be 
best,” she agreed, “and while weTe East maybe we 
can find time to visit the new Midvale Plant and the 
Hog Island Shipyards.” 


THE TALKING VASE 


'4 


THE TALKING VASE 



iHREE characteristics of the human counte- 


X nance Joe Thomas abhorred—curly hair, a 
Grecian profile, and ‘Tomantic” eyes. PhysicaJ 
perfection is all right in a museum; in the home it 
is loathsome. If Adonis had a room-mate—or, bet¬ 
ter, a barber—it is safe to say the latter yearned to 
cut his throat, for who could repeatedly shave a 
cheek, a chin as smooth and as flawless as flesh can 
be: who could daily vaseline a head of wavy mid¬ 
night hair with just the right curl to tempt unruly 
feminine fingers without pra3dng for pimples and 
dandruff? 

- Nevertheless, that is precisely what Joe Thomas 
was called upon to do, for the cheeks, the chin, the 
throat, the hair were his. Out from his mirror 
gazed a pair of haunting, languorous eyes fringed 
like the gentian. He had tried cutting off the lashes, 
but they came in longer and thicker than ever, and 
they curled. His was the fatal curse of beauty. 

Joe had been marked by this hideous peculiarity 
as a child; in fact, he and Myrtle Sawyer had been 


293 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


the prettiest children in town and they had won 
prizes at baby shows. Myrtle, as she grew older, 
lived down her past, but with Joe the disgrace lin¬ 
gered. Even after his voice changed and the pink 
down of adolescence appeared upon his lip, people 
continued to refer to him as “that perfect boy,’^ and 
some of the women spoke of the dimples in his back. 
Joe^s face was that of a sixteen-year-old cherub and 
his lips were like rosebuds, but at references such 
as these there issued from him language—well, lan¬ 
guage that went with a full and unkempt beard. 
When he grew old enough to earnestly envy the ugli¬ 
ness of other boys and to realize that he could 
neither freckle nor grow warts, no matter how he 
tried, a burning resentment took charge of him and 
he fought with his playmates. Frequently he was 
licked by those homely boys, but in spite of his des¬ 
perate disregard of consequences his perfect features 
possessed the resiliency of rubber and malignant 
nature healed the marks of battle. Nothing he 
could do resulted in permanent disfigurement. As 
age laid muscle upon his frame, he more often came 
home a winner, and by the time he had graduated 
from “Tech’^ as an electrical engineer, his reputation 
as a willing and able rough-and-tumbler had become 
such that only comparative strangers complimented 
him upon his looks. 

He was beginning to hope that he had finally laid 
294 


THE TALKING VASE 


his ghost when one day Sol Ginsberg, a friend of 
public-school days, wrote him from Hollywood urg¬ 
ing him to come West and go into ‘‘pictures.’^ Gins¬ 
berg had gone to California as an assistant camera 
man, and through the display of talents entirely un¬ 
suspected by his schoolmates he had risen,.meteor¬ 
like, to the dignity of producer. 

“I can make of you a big hit,”* the enthusiastic 
Ginsberg wrote, “if only you screen as good as you 
look, and I bet you would. We can easy change 
your name to something classy, like Pedro de Ven¬ 
tura, now that these wop leading men have got the 
women boiling. All I expect is I should get a nice 
long term contract in case I put you over. It beats 
the wireless business, Joe, which ain’t got anything 
solid behind it.” 

Joe started to answer the letter, but thought bet¬ 
ter of it, for the postal regulations governing obscen¬ 
ity are rigid. Instead, he swallowed the temptation 
and went on with his radio experiments. But there¬ 
after he detested motion pictures. That detestation 
ripened into a positive hatred when Myrtle Sawyer 
won a beauty contest which carried with it a trip to 
the Coast and a role in “Passion’s Pawn,” a crash¬ 
ing super-special in preparation by the Hyman Film 
Productions. 

Sick with apprehension, cold with dread, Joe called 

295 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


upon Myrtle the evening the announcement appeared 
in the local paper. 

“You don’t intend to accept this crazy offer, do 
you?” he inquired. 

“Why, of course I do!” Myrtle’s blue eyes were 
starry with excitement. “I’m as thrilled as a bunny, 
Joe.” 

“What the devil is your family thinking of?” he 
growled. 

“Why, Joe! It’s the chance of a lifetime!” 

“Sure! Chance to be mauled around by some 
plumber in a sport shirt; chance to be thrown over 
a cliff into the arms of Handsome Harold, the per¬ 
fect male thirty-eight. If I ever see you kissing one 
of those ‘nature’s noblemen’ with a divided chin and 
movable eyebrows—I— That’s all the movies are, 
kissing games!” 

Miss Sawyer flushed. “You always hated kissing 
games, didn’t you?” 

“Of course. Mother’s friends licked my face 
shiny until my beard got rough. They kissed me 
until I smelled sour. If you’ll cut out this non- 
sense^-” 

“It isn't nonsense,” Myrtle declared, earnestly. 
“I’m going to make my fortune.” 

“You don’t need a fortune. I’ll-” 

“It’s my chance for a career. Motion pictures is 
296 



THE TALKING VASE 


the fourth largest business in America, Joe. I must 
think of my future.” 

“There’s a big future in electrical supplies and 
radio equipment, too. I’m working out a new tele¬ 
phone—‘The Phone Beautiful,’ I call it. Why talk 
into an ugly iron thing instead of into a vase or an 
ornamental-?” 

“You’re so practical, so^—matter of fact! So is 
everybody.” Myrtle sighed. “Girls want romance, 
adventure. Of course I may not screen well-” 

“No danger of that.” Joe frowned darkly. “If 
you tackle this, I’m going to start right in burning 
down moving-picture theatres.” 

Myrtle, of course, was flattered by Joe’s jealousy, 
but it was more flattering by far to be selected as 
the most beautiful of ten thousand beautiful girls, 
and before her the gates of the world had opened. 
Through them she glimpsed an enchanting realm of 
glittering possibilities. Fame beckoned her and For¬ 
tune smiled. What girl could hesitate? Long and 
earnestly Joe argued, but in time Myrtle went West. 

Several months later Joe was surprised to receive 
a call from Sol Ginsberg, president of Gins-Art Pro¬ 
ductions, Inc. Mr. Ginsberg had a single-track mind 
and he had come for an answer to his letter. 

“You got a picture face, Joe, if ever I saw one, 
and I’ve seen a million. Maybe if you’d show me 
297 




BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


you can act a little I’d put you right in my next 
serial.” 

‘T’ll show you exactly how I can act/’ Joe began, 
venomously; then his brow cleared and he laughed 
outright. ^‘Did you come all the way from the 
Coast to offer me a job?” 

‘‘N-no. I had other business. You ain’t got to 
act much, Joe. Leave it to the director. Got any 
stills?” 

^T’m an electrician, not a bootlegger.” 

“Still pictures; photographs. It’s types we-” 

“I hate everything about moving pictures, and I 
loathe moving-picture actors.” 

“All the same, it pays better than stringin’ wires.” 
Ginsberg cast a disdainful eye over Joe’s place of 
business. 

Joe opened his moutli to explain that he was an 
engineer, an inventor, but he doubted if Sol would 
understand the difference, so he said: “Come in here. 
I want to talk to you.” He led the caller into his 
office and seated him. Then, “Tell me, how are 
you getting along?” 

Ginsberg shrugged. “Oh, we all got our troubles, 

I s’pose! Pictures ain’t so good lately. Competition, 
you know. Two fellers I’d like to kill, Joe—the 
guys that invented competition and overhead. Com¬ 
pared with them robbers, Frank and Jesse James ' 
was a couple of nice boys. No sooner I spend a for- 
298 



THE TALKING VASE 


tune making a star than along comes Ad Hyman or 
the Notable or some other bird of prayer and hires 
her away. Only one artist on the lot you can 
absolutely depend to work every day and that^s the 
famous Hebrew heavy, Mr. Morris W. Overhead.” 

^What sort of a fellow is Hyman?” Joe inquired, 
curiously. 

‘^Don’t ask me! I wouldn’t talk about him. He’s 
a wulture, Joe. It ain’t enough I should lose to 
him Miriam Donaldson and Bush Thorndyke, the 
two best money-getters in the business, he takes with 
’em my best continuity writer by offering him screen 
credit. On top of that somebody at the home office 
hears the great Anna Turin sing ^Tosca’ and right 
away signs her up to make five Gins-Art features, 
with a private car both ways from New York. 
Anna Turin!” Ginsberg moaned like an autumn 
breeze. 

“I supposed Turin was a great find.” 

“Ain’t I telling you? They couldn’t of found an¬ 
other like her if they looked a year. Her first pic¬ 
ture cost us a hundred and eighty thousand dollars, 
two script writers, and the best director on the lot. 
Poor Jimmy Lord! I just left him in West Baden. 
Nervous indigestion and shell shock. He cries steady 
and can’t eat only bran muffins. Battle Creek is the 
place for him, but he can’t stand the name.” 

“What is the picture like?” 

299 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Ginsberg stared at the speaker with the eye of a 
hunted deer. ^^One reel of titles and action and six 
reels of close-ups of the star. Sure! Pictures is a 
great business. Another hit by Turin and Gins-Art 
goes under the hammer. Already her spirit control 
has advised her to hire a lawyer for fear we break 
the contract.” 

“Spirit control?” 

“Sure. Since this feller Doyle got his name in the 
papers, Hollywood does nothing but tip tables and 
hold slate writings. The bootleggers have turned 
mediums—more money in it and they don’t have to 
split with the police. It’s so you can’t sign up even 
a character woman without she should first consult 
the unseen world, and then you don’t know if you 
got a good signature to the contract or the monaker 
of some dear departed that wouldn’t hold in court. 
It looks like Ad Hyman has got a drag in the spirit 
world, because all the good actors that quit Gins- 
Art right away sign with him. Crooked business 
men I can get along with, Joe, when they’re alive, 
but how you going to compete with a lot of slick 
ghosts? I ask you.” 

Here was something that interested Joe Thomas, 
and for some time he questioned the producer. 
Friendship, perhaps it was, that induced the latter 
to lay bare his hidden worries. Truly, those worries 
were by no means trivial, for Turin was a terrible 
300 


THE TALKING VASE 


quince and her contract alone, if carried out, was 
enough to wreck a stronger organization than Gins- 
Art. Moreover, it did indeed look as if SoFs com¬ 
pany was on the spirit black-list, for what few cap¬ 
able people it still retained were threatening to 
desert and go to his rival. 

^^But there, I been crying about my troubles and 
you probably got plenty of your own,” the picture 
man sighed. ^^Business good?” 

^‘Fine. I’ve perfected a new idea in telephones— 
^The Phone Beautiful’—and it’s bound to go over. 
Why not make the telephone a thing of artistic 
beauty?” 

^^Why not?” Ginsberg nodded vacantly. Then, 
“How about three hundred a week, Joe? And if I 
put you across-” 

Mr. Thomas exploded. “Not for three thousand. 
I tell you I’m poisoned on pictures.” 

“Then why you been taking all this time-?” 

“Because-” the speaker flushed. “It’s on ac¬ 

count of Myrtle. She won that beauty contest of 
the Hyman Film Company.” 

“I know.” Ginsberg smiled wanly. “It’s the 
only piece of luck I had that he got her instead of 
Gins-Art.” 

“Why? Isn’t she any good?” Joe inquired, hope¬ 
fully. 

“She’s a lemon! Mind you, now, Myrtle I like. 

301 





BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Ain’t I known her all my life? But for an actress 
—I’d sooner have a trained seal. This here Tas- 
sion’s Pawn’ is a complete flop.” 

“Then I’m afraid”—Joe rose and took a nervous 
turn about the room—“there’s something in what 
I’ve heard.” 

“What you heard?” 

“That Hyman is interested in her; wants to marry 
her. She was engaged to me when she left here.” 

“So? That’s tough. But, Joe, a lotta girls have 
thought Hyman wanted to marry ’em and he didn’t. 
That’s how he works.” 

“I’ve been waiting for her to get sick of the game 
and come home, but he has signed her up for a 
year.” 

“He should worry if she can’t act, with the com¬ 
pany paying her salary. Of course she don’t know 
she’s rotten. None of ’em do. I s’pose her spirit 
control-” 

“Has she fallen for that stuff?” 

“I don’t know. Most of ’em have. Lord, Joe, 
if you was a good medium instead of a bum electri¬ 
cian, we’d—clean up.” 

After a moment Joe Thomas astonished his caller 
by quietly declaring, “I am.” 

“Am what?” 

“A—medium.” 

“Hush!” 


302 



THE TALKING VASE 


“I’m—psychic, in a way. Anyhow, I can talk 
with the dead, if that would do us any good.” 

Sol Ginsberg breathed heavily, then, after a search¬ 
ing stare, he reached for his hat and rose, saying; 
“Well, Joe, I gotta be getting along.” 

But the other laid a detaining hand upon his arm. 
“Wait. You’ve been complaining about malicious 
spirits ruining your business. Suppose I could put 
you in touch with some friendly spooks that would 
boost you and knock Hyman.” 

“Are you kidding? Of course there ain’t any such 
thing as spirits. All the same, I’d be willing to 
sign up one that I could count on and let him name 
his own salary.” 

“If I could convert you, I’d have no trouble con¬ 
vincing those people in Los Angeles, would I?” 

“Convince ’em of what? Already they believe 
anything they’re told. It’s me you got to convince.” 

“Very well. Suppose you heard a spirit voice? 
Suppose it answered questions, foretold the future, 
withstood every test?” 

“Honest, Joe, to try such foolishness on me is 
wasting time. It can’t be done.” 

“Wait and see. You’ll have to admit there are 
forces in nature vastly powerful, although unseen; 
dynamic possibilities we know almost nothing about. 
Well, I’ve discovered a method of communicating 
with the dead that none of your mediums know any- 

303 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


thing about. Billy Sunday never snatched a brand 
from the burning as quickly as I propose to yank 
you out of your disbelief. Sol, before you leave this 
room you are going to talk with your ancestors.” 

^‘Ha! Yiddish ghosts! All right. I’ll fall for 
anything, once. Commence I ” 

It was nearly three hours later when Ginsberg left 
Joe Thomas’s place of business. He wrung the en¬ 
gineer’s hands and laughed excitedly. “Say, all the 
luck in the world ain’t bad, after all. I’m a fifty- 
minute egg and when you get me going you’ve done 
something. Most of it I don’t understand yet. I’ve 
been selling some of my Gins-Art stock on the quiet, 
but if your ghosts will talk in California like they 
do here-” 

^They’ll talk much better.” 

^‘Then I’m going to buy it in again. Wire me 
when you’re ready to come and I’ll have my press 
man plant a story in every Los Angeles paper. 
Jimmy Lord will be back by that time. He’s been 
to some of them seances with Turin, and he’s a bear 
on make-up. Take a tip, Joe, and grab a few shares 
of Gins-Art for yourself. These old-home spirits 
of ours will send ’em to par.” 

The more intellectual members of the Holl3nvood 
moving-picture colony were interested one morning 
to read that Professor Tremblay, the eminent scien- 

304 



THE TALKING VASE 


list, had arrived on his way to the Orient in further¬ 
ance of his experiments in psychomancy, a particular 
phase of psychic research upon which he was the 
leading authority. The professor was en route to 
tlie interior of India, were he had previously spent 
several years studying spirit phenomena, and while 
he was reticent about the evidence already gathered, 
nevertheless he intimated that his forthcoming book 
would create a sensation. 

Several people, Madame Turin among others, 
telephoned the investigator at his hotel, but suc¬ 
ceeded only in speaking wdth his secretary, who in¬ 
formed them that Professor Tremblay was distressed 
at the amount of publicity he had received and 
positively would not consider anything in the way 
of a public appearance or a lecture. He was en¬ 
grossed for the present in a series of exhaustive 
experiments with the famous Talking Vase, of which 
no doubt they had heard. In perhaps six months 
he would be ready to lay his conclusions before the 
world. 

What was the Talking Vase? The secretary was 
amazed that the phenomenon was unknown to his 
hearers, inasmuch as the journal of the International 
Society had lately been full of it. It was a curious 
relic the professor had stumbled upon and psychic 
circles were in an uproar over it. Rightly, too, since 

305 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


it had rendered former methods of spirit communi¬ 
cation antiquated. 

News of this sort naturally created a buzz among 
Madame Turin and her psychically inclined friends; 
that buzz became a murmur when the scientist 
visited the Gins-Art lot. 

Pressed for an explanation, Tremblay confided 
that Conan Doyle’s experiments with spirit photogra¬ 
phy had induced him to take to India with him an 
expert camera man, hence his visit to the moving-pic¬ 
ture capital. 

Doctor Tremblay was a handsome, swarthy, im¬ 
pressive man. He wore a magnificent glossy black 
beard parted in the middle after the Oriental fash¬ 
ion. Ginsberg, Jimmy Lord, and Moe Apple, the 
Gins-Art head electrician, spent the better part of 
the day with him. 

Myrtle Sawyer was genuinely surprised when Joe 
Thomas phoned her that evening explaining that he 
had come clear to the Coast just to see her, and she 
welcomed him when he called, a half hour later. 
Myrtle’s gladness at sight of him was unaffected, 
but Joe soon discovered that a change had come over 
her; she was no longer the girl he had known. 
Camera blight had stricken her. Myrtle had been 
a modest creature, a trifle shy, in fact, and she had 
never displayed the faintest sign of conceit over her 
abundant good looks. But the movies had changed 
306 


THE TALKING VASE 


all that. Her personal appearance concerned her 
deeply, now; it absorbed her. She referred to it fre¬ 
quently and showed Joe a bewildering collection of 
stills, the while she talked about camera angles and 
back lighting and soft focuses. After they had 
sufficiently admired her photographs, she read him 
some thrilling press notices of “Passion’s Pawn” and 
her work as the captive slave. At least they thrilled 
her. Next she showed Joe a fan magazine in which 
was an illustrated interview headed, “Fragrant 
Myrtle Sawyer, the Wonder Girl.” 

Joe read the story with some surprise, for Myrtle, 
it seemed, had in the course of a few months devel¬ 
oped into an all-around athlete. There was a half¬ 
tone of her in riding breeches and polo belt kissing 
the nostril of a livery horse; another of her in golf 
clothes, removing a divot by means of a left-handed 
grip on a right-handed mashie, and a third view of 
the Wonder Girl smashing at a tennis ball that 
Tilden could not have reached from the end of a 
spring-board. Nor was that the half of it. “Fra¬ 
grant Myrtle” was a skillful and an adventurous 
fisherwoman, also a crack shot—she had the clothes 
to show it. Joe feared to turn the page lest he should 
discover that she was also a high diver and dressed 
that part. Her passionate fondness for the out-of- 
doors, he read, arose only from her intense vitality 
and perfect health, but there was another, a softer, 

307 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


a more womanly side to her character:—she was a 
fancy cook and adored bungalow aprons. She loved 
her parents and all dumb animals. Myrtle Sawyer 
was a girl “you’d like to take home and introduce 
to your mother.” 

Joe was glad there was one statement in the 
ghastly parody to which he could subscribe; he’d 
like to take her home and introduce her to his 
mother, all right—with instructions to give her a 
good spanking. 

“It is all a part of Mr. Hyman’s publicity cam¬ 
paign,” Myrtle explained. “He’s a wonderful man.” 

“Um-m! When do you start work on the next 
picture?” 

“I don’t know. We haven’t found a script yet. 
He insists on a proper vehicle; so many stars have 
been killed by bad stories. I’m not really a star, of 
course, but he says-” 

“Honestly, Myrtle, do you like this sort of thing?” 
Joe indicated the “Fragrant Myrtle” interview. 

The girl flushed. “Certainly not. I hate it, just 
as I hate horses and guns and cooking. But I never 
earned a dollar in my life and it’s such fun to buy 
things with your own money. It’s all like a dream. 
There are s 6 few things a girl can do, Joe. When 
she’s lucky enough to have a career offered her, why 
—she owes it to herself and to her family to make 
the most of her opportunity.” 

308 



THE TALKING VASE 


a pretty good career to marry and live 
happily ever after. That’s what all your photoplays 
are written about.” 

Myrtle nodded. A yearning light crept into her 
eyes, upon her face there came an expression the 
camera had never caught, and Joe Thomas realized 
that at heart she was still the Myrtle he knew and 
adored. He understood her, too. Poor, f(k)lish, 
dazzled little kid! She was indeed walking in a 
dream. Her faith, her yearning, her determination 
to become rich and great were very natural, very 
girlish. He loved her the more tenderly for them. 

Later, when he told her good night, he took her 
in his arms and kissed her. She struggled faintly, 
she protested in a shaky voice, but there were tears 
in her eyes, and the hands that held him off really 
clung to him. He was too wise, however, to take 
advantage of her momentary mood. 

It was due to Madame Turin’s persistence that 
Professor Tremblay finally consented to appear in¬ 
formally before her and her friends and demon¬ 
strate his mastery of psychic forces. As a return 
for the many courtesies of Sol Ginsberg, he suggested 
that his experiments be conducted in the latter’s 
home. 

On the appointed evening, the president of Gins- 
Art entertained a dozen or more guests at dinner, 
among whom were Miriam Donaldson and Bush 

309 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Thorndyke, his former stars, and also Ad Hyman, 
their present employer. In spite of their poisonous 
rivalry, the two producers maintained an outward 
show of friendship. To-night Hyman was more 
than skeptical of the forthcoming demonstration; he 
twitted Sol upon his conversion to spiritualism, and 
his remarks were edged with open malice. 

^^Because Madame Turin gets me to stage a ghost 
dance in my house, is it a sign I believe in such 
things?^’ the host protested. ‘‘Anyhow, it^s a free 
show and you got a good dinner thrown in, so what 
you kicking about? For all I know this Tremblay 
is a faker. There’s fakers even in the fillum busi¬ 
ness, and for a while they get away with it.” Gins¬ 
berg spoke with a smile, but he narrowed his eyes at 
Hyman. 

Madame Turin resented the mental attitude of 
both men and said so. “The idea of criticizing a 
man of his eminence! Of course, I’m only a child 
in my understanding of the subject, nevertheless I 
could tell you of things I’ve seen, demonstrations 
that would surprise you. Whether or not you believe 
in a higher plane of existence, you wilt admit that, 
we poor humans are drawn in opposite directions 
by conflicting forces, some beneficent, others malig¬ 
nant; forces of good and evil. If, through spiritual 
understanding, we attune ourselves to those benefi- 
310 


THE TALKING VASE 

cent powers they will inevitably sweep us onward to 
success. That, at least, is my theory.’^ 

“Maybe youVe right,” Hyman told her. “Any¬ 
how, it’s like that in the picture business:—some 
of us succeed in everything we touch. Why? Be¬ 
cause we have the power to do big things. Others 
fail.” Ginsberg felt something coming and essayed 
an interruption, but the speaker went on, “When 
actors ask me for advice, I tell them to get aboard 
a going concern, and line up with the successful, 
growing firms that can do the most for them. If 
your cart is hitched to a sick horse, cut the traces. 
Don’t rats leave a sinking ship?” Hyman addressed 
this question directly to Stella Green, last of the 
Gins-Art stars. Miss Green was known to screen 
lovers as “California’s Passion Flower, the Girl with 
the Million-dollar Back,” and Ginsberg considered 
her the best vamp in the business. He read the 
double meaning in Hyman’s words and a cold sweat 
broke out upon him. If the Passion Flower jumped, 
he was ruined. 

“You said something. Ad,” he declared. “It’s 
only rats do like that.” 

Miss Donaldson spoke up in her lisping, childish 
voice: “Buth had a demonthrathion. Didn’t you, 
Buth?” 

Bush Thorndyke, pressed for details, confessed, 
“It happened while Miriam and I were making The 

311 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Bride of Hate.’ You remember the scene where the 
castle burns and I swing myself across the moat 
on the telegraph wire?” 

‘Where he ethcapeth from the Cage of Death and 
thaveth me from Duke Borith.” 

Ginsberg nodded vigorously. “I should forget it 
in a hurry, when the set cost thirty thousand dol¬ 
lars.” 

“Well, I had a slate-writing and it warned me to 
beware of fire and water,” said Thorndyke, “so I pre¬ 
tended to have a sprained wrist and they doubled me. 
The wire broke and that double went to the hos¬ 
pital for six weeks.” 

“I remember that, too,” Ginsberg asserted. “Like 
it was yesterday. He had a day and night nurse.” 

Hyman beamed. “On our lot, we have never hurt 
a principal. We’re careful of our artists. Anyhow, 
those cheap stunt pictures are cold.” 

During and after dinner more guests arrived, and 
by nine o’clock, the hour set for Tremblay’s appear¬ 
ance, the party included a good many of the local 
film notables. 

The professor was late, but when he came he 
carried with him a large case which he carefully 
laid upon the hall table. Alone with Ginsberg in 
the latter’s bedroom, he inquired, “Is Lord here?” 

“Sure. Him and Moe had their dinner in the 
basement and everything is set. But the nerve of 
312 


THE TALKING VASE 

some people! Ad Hyman is after the Tassion 
Flower.’ In my own house! And it wouldn’t sur¬ 
prise me if already she’s jumped! He offers her 
seventeen-fifty a week and guarantees court costs if 
I sue. The wiperT* The producer mopped his 
moist brow. “Such a night! And on top of a wire 
from New York to hold up Turin’s salary check till 
they can cover it! Just as well I should ask her to 
hold her breath that long.” 

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Professor Tremblay 
addressed the assembled guests after his introduc¬ 
tion, “I am not here in the guise of a necromancer, 
but as a cold, scientific investigator of spirit phe¬ 
nomena. The theory that intelligence is everlast¬ 
ing, that mind travels beyond the grave, that life 
continues after death, is neither new nor original. It 
is one of man’s oldest beliefs, and to this investiga¬ 
tion I ask that you bring neither a blind, unreason¬ 
ing acquiescence nor a stubborn disbelief. Let me 
urge you to maintain open minds. That is the only 
true, scientific attitude. 

“It has been my practice to appear only before 
academic audiences, therefore I declined Mr. Gins¬ 
berg’s first invitation to come here. But upon sec¬ 
ond thought I realized the dignity and importance 
of your profession. I realized that here I should 
meet only the keenest minds; people with level 
heads and brilliant intuition. So it occurred to me 

313 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


that among you there might be an intellect capable 
of solving the occult mystery that has baffled the 
most learned of our purely scientific investigators.” 

There was heartfelt applause at this tribute to 
the higher intelligence of screen celebrities. 

Madame Turin murmured audibly; ‘‘He’s wonder¬ 
ful. And so young!” 

Through his fine black beard the professor’s teeth 
gleamed pleasantly. “Now for a brief history of 
the unique relic I have brought with me. Several 
years ago I was engaged in important research work 
which took me to the province of Poopar, four 
hundred and eighty miles northwest of Calcutta. 
There I was the guest of the rajah, a very old man 
at the time. Of course, I had heard of the famous 
Talking Vase of Poopar. Who has not? But I 
put it down as a native superstition, a myth. Imag¬ 
ine my surprise, therefore, when mine host assured 
me that it did indeed exist, although none but the 
eyes of yogis and priests had ever beheld it, none 
but holy men had held converse with it. It is per¬ 
haps a tribute to my standing in the world of occult¬ 
ism that I was finally permitted to see the vase, the 
most remarkable phenomenon the Orient has yet 
produced, and to test its powers. My report to the 
International Society created a sensation. I was 
regarded as a madman, for I reported that it actu¬ 
ally spoke. The rajah’s family is one of the oldest 

314 


THE TALKING VASE 


in the East; this urn from time immemorial had 
contained the sacred ashes of his forbears and he 
declared that the voice was that of his ancestors!** 

There was a stir and a rustle from the audience. 
Miriam Donaldson’s hand sought that of her manly 
co-star, Bush Thorndyke, and she chattered: 

‘Tt giveth me the creepthi I’m all over gooth 
fieth.” 

Ad Hyman leaned forward to whisp)er: ^Tt’s the 
bunk. But I’ve got to hand it to him. He’s great.” 

Tremblay continued: ‘‘Inasmuch as my knowl¬ 
edge of the Indian language was incomplete and the 
rajah had to interpret for me, naturally the demon¬ 
stration was not entirely satisfactory. Neverthe¬ 
less, I proved beyond question that there was no 
trick, no fake about the voice, and I offered the 
rajah any sum for the relic. He refused to con¬ 
sider it. 

“One day while tiger hunting I saved the life of 
his son, and later when the rajah died I induced the 
young man to surrender the vase into my keeping, 
with the understanding that I never leave it out of 
my possession and that I return it to the temple at 
Poopar in two years. He also exacted the strict 
proviso that I use it only for scientific demonstrations 
before serious-minded people, explaining how easy 
it would be for an unscrupulous person to enrich 
himself by consulting it on business affairs. You 

31S 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


see, the voice is truly the voice of an oracle; it fore¬ 
casts the future as unerringly as it reveals the past. 
That promise, ladies and gentlemen, I have scrupu¬ 
lously adhered to.” 

Madame Turin wished to know if the voice spoke 
only its native tongue. 

‘‘Ah! Now comes one of the strangest features 
of this bewildering business; one that has baffled 
the keenest minds of Europe and America. Shortly 
after the vase came into my possession, I noticed that 
it occasionally spoke an English word. Gradually, 
it came to speak English entirely, although with 
an accent not unlike that of my old friend the 
rajah. Within the last six months every trace of 
accent has disappeared. 

“I will bore you no further with explanations. 
The vase is here and you are free to test its powers.” 

With these words the professor opened the case 
he had brought with him, exposing to view an an¬ 
tique urn, or pitcher, with a slender, graceful neck 
and a long, curving, covered spout not unlike that 
of a watering pot. The vessel appeared to be made 
of some composition lighter than clay, its body was 
covered with crude figures in bas relief. The audi¬ 
ence pressed close and examined it inside and out. 

“For our purpose we shall need a smaller room, 
one capable of accommodating perhaps a dozen 
chairs,” the professor announced. 

316 


THE TALKING VASE 


^^Use the library,” Ginsberg offered, and thither 
Tremblay bore his precious burden. 

‘‘Excellent!” he said, upon his return. “Now 
then, I assume that most of you are convinced that 
there is such a thing as mind reading; thought trans¬ 
ference, so I will not-” 

“Wait a minute,” Hyman broke in. “Nobody 
ever read my mind, and I don^t believe it can be 
done, on the level.” 

Ginsberg laughed loudly at this. “First you got 
to have a mind. Ad, before anybody can read it. 
You don^t ask the professor should accomplish the 
impossible, I hope?” 

“So?” Hyman wheeled swiftly upon the speaker. 
“Maybe he can tell what I’m thinking right now. 
The ladies can leave the room for a minute, so he 
can speak it right out loud. And if you go with 
them it won’t hurt anybody’s feelings. I’m from 
Missouri. If I’m going to join the order, give me 
all the work. What do you mean, ‘thought transfer¬ 
ence’?” 

Madame Turin was distressed at this interruption. 
“There is always a disturbing element at every se¬ 
ance,” she complained. “Skeptics and mental defec¬ 
tives should stay at home.” 

“Pardon! This is in no sense a seance.” Trem¬ 
blay raised his hands in good-natured protest. “I 
flatter myself that I have progressed far beyond 

317 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


that stage. Mr. Hyman is right. It was my mis¬ 
take in assuming that you had gone further in your 
studies. However, I think I can readily prove to 
him that—well, that thoughts are things. Thought 
transference is one of our first steps. Mr. Hyman, 
will you oblige me by speaking a number? Any 
number of two figures.” 

^TVe got you. Twenty-three.” 

“Twenty-three,” the professor nodded and stroked 
his forked beard. “Yonder is a telephone. Please 
call the Hotel Ambassador and ask for my secre¬ 
tary, Mr. Henry Graves.” 

Hyman did as directed. There was a brief delay, 
then, “Hello! Professor Tremblay^s room, please. 
. . . Mr. Henry Graves?” Hyman covered the 
receiver with his palm and announced, “He’s on 
the wire.” 

“Tell him, please, that I am thinking of a number 
and ask him what it is.” 

Several people crowded close to Hyman while he 
repeated the message, holding the instrument away 
from his ear so that they, too, could hear the secre¬ 
tary’s answer. There was a moment’s delay, then 
the bystanders gasped. Hyman hung up, and turned 
with a foolish grin. “You win. He called the turn.” 

Sol Ginsberg spoke above the chorus of exclama¬ 
tions, saying: “Of course. Ad, if it had been only 
you thinking of that number instead of all of us, it 

318 


THE TALKING VASE 


would of fell off the wire. It takes a mental atha- 
lete to shoot a message that far.” 

Tremblay now had the respectful attention of 
even the most incredulous. Over his evening clothes 
he slipped an elaborate Oriental robe, upon his head 
he placed a large turban which came well down over 
his ears; then he called for envelopes and paper. 

^Tlease write your questions, sign, and seal them 
in the envelopes. Be careful that nobody sees what 
you write. I assume that all of you have lost dear 
ones; that you wish to learn whether they fare well 
or ill and whether life after death indeed exists. 
That is the most vital problem that vexes the human 
mind and I urge you to avail yourselves in all seri¬ 
ousness of this opportunity which may never be re¬ 
peated. A supreme wisdom is at your call. Make 
the most of it.” 

Amid a great chewing of pencils and a heavy fur¬ 
rowing of brows these instructions were followed. 
Meanwhile, the professor called for an assistant and 
for some receptacle in which to collect the sealed 
questions. Ginsberg hustled out of the room and 
shouted loudly for Moe Apple. 

Apple appeared with a black cloth bag, and when 
the last query had been signed and sealed he passed 
through the audience and each guest with his own 
hands dropped his envelope into the bag. Tremblay 
next requested Apple to upset the bag and dump its 

319 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


contents upon a large brass tray which he had 
placed upon a table. This done, he waved the elec¬ 
trician out of the room, struck a match, and ignited 
the pile. As it blazed up he murmured something 
about “consuming fires,” “purifying flames,” and 
while he droned his incantation he stirred the blazing 
papers with a metal wand until the last one had 
been consumed, until the last charred and blackened 
remnant had been resolved to ashes. His voice be¬ 
came louder, more resonant as he announced: 

“My friends, your hopes, your fears have passed 
on. Your words have been transmuted into a form 
visible to him who speaks through the rajah^s vase. 
May his counsel aid and cheer you in your quest for 
the ultimate truth. Not all of you will hear the 
Voice; fortunate will be those to whom it gives a 
message. Now, as many of you as can find seats 
please follow me into the Presence.” 

No one could fail to be impressed by such gravity 
of mien, by such tones as issued from that majestic 
robed and turbaned figure. With some nervous gig¬ 
gling, the library filled up and the door was closed. 

“Sit erect, with your hands upon your knees. Con¬ 
centrate wholly upon the questions you have asked.” 
The professor stood near the vase; his eyes were 
gleaming, his brow was furrowed, he had become 
dominant, immense. Again his voice became se¬ 
pulchral: “Concentrate! Be silent! Wait!” 

320 


THE TALKING VASE 


Followed a long pause, insufferably intense. *^Oh, 
Voice of the Vase! Great Spirit of Poopar!” Trem¬ 
blay cried sonorously. ^‘We knock at the gates of 
the Beyond. We await the sign.” 

Again a breathless silence, then came a faint 
rustling as of dry leaves, or the sighing of a breeze, 
and the bearded figure stirred. “He comes! The 
Voice! Yes, Mighty One, you call for—for Mary? 
Miriam? Is there a Miriam-?” 

Miss Donaldson spoke in a reedy, frightened 
voice. 

“Ith it me?” 

“Come forward, please.” 

Miss Donaldson rose and went blindly to the 
table; she inclined her head and listened. Through 
the silence was heard the unmistakable tones of a 
thin, far-away voice. Far away, indeed, since it 
spanned centuries. Miss Donaldson gasped and 
clutched at her throat; she nodded as if in answer to 
a question, then she tried to form words, but her 
lips failed her. The murmur from the vase was 
like the faint tones of an oboe, but evidently the 
message was distinctly audible, for the girPs pallor 
increased with every sentence. Her bosom heaved; 
with her free hand she pawed aimlessly. Those who 
watched her growing agitation were appalled when, 
without warning, she uttered a piercing shriek and 
collapsed. 


321 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


The door to the living room was flung open. Gins¬ 
berg, Hyman, and others crowded through. They 
were met by Professor Tremblay bearing the un¬ 
conscious star in his arms. 

‘Tt is nothing,” he calmly announced. “The first 
subject has fainted, as usual.” 

Prompt restorative measures soon brought the 
victim around. She opened her eyes to discover 
Bush Thorndyke, white and helpless, staring down 
at her the while her employer. Ad Hyman, fever¬ 
ishly massaged her hands. A most amazing thing 
then occurred. Miss Donaldson snatched her hands 
away and spoke to Hyman as follows: 

“You dirty dog!” 

Hyman sat back upon his heels, his mouth fell 
open, then, attributing the outburst to hysteria, he 
spoke soothingly. But the diminutive beauty would 
not be soothed. “IVe got your number, you—^you 
therpentr^ With one small palm she smote the 
producer a resounding smack upon his full, olive 
cheek. “Buth! Buth!” she wailed and held out her 
arms to Thorndyke. 

Thorndyke knelt gracefully beside the couch and 
gathered her to his bosom. He moved slowly, as if 
through force of habit he timed his action to the 
cranking of a camera. Over his shoulder he ex¬ 
plained: 


322 


THE TALKING VASE 


'We didn’t intend to announce it, but Miriam 
and I were married a month ago.” 

"Ach!” Hyman recoiled; his eyes blazed. "There 
goes fifty thousand off 'The Gutter Lily’! And after 
I’ve spent a fortune advertising her as the Public’s 
Darling. Co-starring with her husband! Why, it’s 
like announcing that Jackie Coogan is a married 
man! Isn’t business rotten enough without trying 
to run the fans out of the theaters?” 

Miss Donaldson had won fame by her ingenue 
portrayals, by her playing of placid, sixteen-year-old 
innocents, but she qualified now as an intensely 
emotional actress. She withered Hyman with a 
glare of hatred. "You thnake in the grath! Wait 
until I tell Buth! WaitT 

"I must warn all of you,” gravely announced the 
professor, "that the Voice is pitiless. How could 
it be otherwise when it speaks only the Truth? 
Perhaps some of you fear disappointment, bad 
news-” 

"It wathn’t bad newth; it wath good newth,” 
declared the bride of a month, the "Gutter Lily.” 
'Tt—thaved my happineth.” She bowed her head 
upon Thorndyke’s chest, in the exact spot where 
she had bowed it so many times for the slow fade, 
and wet his shirt front with her tears. 

"She seems to be all right again, so let’s go on. 
There’s something I simply must know.” It was 

323 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Stella Green of the expensive spine who spoke, and 
when others shared her eagerness the sitting was 
resumed. 

This time it was Madame Turin who was sum¬ 
moned from the circle. 

‘‘You may take the vase in your arms,” Tremblay 
told her. “Let us be sure there are no concealed 
wires—no trickery of any sort.” 

Reverently the singer lifted the relic and bore it 
to her chair. There was nothing hysterical about 
Turin; hers was the blazing ardor of a zealot. “I am 
waiting!” she declared in her full, round voice. 

Again came the eerie whispering from the shadow 
world, but this time those sitting near the great artist 
could distinguish occasional words and phrases, and 
their scalps tingled. 

. . glorious gift of song prostituted . . . this 
vile and degrading employment . . . multitudes 
awaiting to acclaim . . . Paris, the entire Conti¬ 
nent in grief at your desertion . . .” 

“Yes, yes, but my contract?” Turin cried in tones 
of panic. “It calls for four more. I— It’s— Oh, 
that is impossible!” 

The birring continued for some time. Closer the 
song bird clutched the urn; she strained it to her 
bosom; her eyes were tragic. She questioned it, 
she argued, she protested. Hers was indeed a 
demonstration and she made the most of it. 

324 


THE TALKING VASE 

“Thai’s!” she cried at last. “But it was promised to 
another. . . . I—understand. It is the climate. 
IVe noticed the change. ... It will go and never 
return? . . . There^s more money in opera. ... I 
—I thank you.” 

It was plain that the singer had experienced a 
great shock, nevertheless she withstood it nobly. 
Like one in a trance she returned the vase to its 
guardian. Breathlessly she told him: “This was 
a priceless privilege. Priceless! And a superb 
demonstration! It has changed my entire career, 
my life.” 

Next the vase called for Wilbur Kent, most popu¬ 
lar of the Notable Film Company’s directors; then 
“Red” Courtney of the Screen Writers’ Guild, and 
Stella Green, the last of the Gins-Art stars. Several 
others were likewise summoned. 

Despite this unique opportunity of learning some¬ 
thing about the spiritual world; about the beatitude 
of their departed relatives, it seemed that each and 
every one of these earnest students of the psychic 
had propounded questions concerning his or her own 
material selves:—questions of a purely business 
nature. Their yearning to prove the existence of life 
after death, strangely enough, had taken the form 
of requests for professional counsel. The future 
indeed concerned them, but their own immediate 
futures, only. That the Voice conversed in terms 

325 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

of dollars and cents, that it discussed salaries, con¬ 
tracts, renewals, and options, indicated that the ra¬ 
jah’s spirit was not only endowed with a godlike 
patience, but also that it possessed an amazing 
familiarity with the film business. Much ‘finside” 
information passed between it and them and no more 
convincing evidence of a supreme intelligence could 
have been adduced. 

The first group of sitters became enthusiastic 
converts and the library rapidly filled up for the 
second show. 

Ad Hyman was among the first to receive a mes¬ 
sage, and evidently it was not a pleasant one. He 
said little, but he perspired freely, and even after 
he had gone back to his seat he continued to mop 
his face. He was no longer a skeptic, but a wor¬ 
ried if reluctant apostate. 

As for Ginsberg, when his turn came, he talked 
frankly to the vase—upon banking matters. ‘‘So? 
. . . It ain’t possible? . . . Listen, I don’t care if 
it is the biggest group in Wall Street. Why should 
I let ’em put in four hundred thousand dollars when 
already we got more money than we need? . . . Six 
per cent, eh? . . . Sure! And I don’t know if I 
want to take on any more stars, either, with salaries 
coming down every day. . . . Wait! Don’t tell 
me!” 

Whatever it was the vase told him, Ginsberg was 
326 


THE TALKING VASE 


astonished. He could barely credit the good news, 
and when he had finally finished his spirit interview 
he announced to his hearers: 

‘‘Maybe it^s a fake, but for what I just heard I 
wouldn’t take a hundred thousand dollars cash.” 
When he reseated himself he was seen to nod and 
to smile and to compute upon his fingers. He was 
heard to mutter strange and cryptic words. 

The last guest had gone. In Ginsberg’s dining 
room was laid out a midnight spread, largely liquid. 
At the table sat the producer himself, Jimmy Lord, 
Moe Apple, and Joe Thomas; before them was a 
stack of envelopes and sheets of note paper. These 
Sol and Moe were reading between drinks. 

“Listen to this from Ad Hyman,” chuckled the 
host. “ ‘Is it safe to risk Myrtle Sawyer in a lead¬ 
ing role?’ Ha! It should take an Injun rajah to 
answer that! Only for Myrtle’s sake and yours, 
Joe, I could wish Jimmy had boosted her for a 
Bernhardt.” 

Lord shook his head with a grin. “I warned him 
to beware of a blue-eyed woman who had recently 
come into his life, and said the home office had got 
wise. Told him they were sending out an efficiency 
man to cut overhead, and it meant her job or his. 
But Donaldson will put an end to Miss Sawyer’s 
future, anyhow.” 


327 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


^^Say! What did you pull on her?’’ Ginsberg 
inquired. “I never heard such a screech.” 

‘^She’s been getting candy through the mails for 
a month—some nutty Tan’ of course—but I told her 
it came from Ad and he intended to poison her so 
as to put Myrtle in opposite Thorndyke. Well, 
candy is poison to Miriam. Another five pounds 
and she’ll be too fat to get over. While we were 
shooting ‘The Bride of Hate,’ she ate a box of 
Turkish paste and her liver went bad. It cost us six 
thousand dollars. Of course, I didn’t know she 
and Bush were married—that was pure luck. I’ll 
bet they’ll be back on our lot in a week.” 

“It looks like a big night’s work for you,” Joe 
Thomas told his host, “with Madam Turin eager 
to cancel and hurry to Paris while there is yet time 
to save her voice and the future of grand opera, and 
with the Passion Flower wedded to Gins-Art for 
life, not to mention the others! Some of them 
spoke so low I was afraid the dictaphone wouldn’t 
pick up their voices.” 

“I didn’t catch everything they said,” Lord con¬ 
fessed, “but after Donaldson did her flop they were 
ready to take anything.” 

“What made you call ‘Red’ Courtney?” Ginsberg 
inquired of the director. 

“He’s married to a rotten sequence in his last 
328 


THE TALKING VASE 

script and I thought I’d clean it up, for my own 
sake.” 

“Maybe you told him five hundred dollars was 
too much for a bum original?” Sol beamed hopefully. 

“Say, you’re in luck that nobody wandered down¬ 
stairs and found Apple and me with that wireless 
rig and these written questions!” 

Apple agreed to this. “Sure I A lot of ’em came 
here to kid the thing, and they’d have done it, too, 
only for Joe’s thought transference. That one had 
me going and I don’t know yet how he did it.” 

“Don’t you fellows believe in anything except 
alcoholic spirits?” Joe grinned and put a new 
“collar” on his glass. 

Ginsberg shook his head positively. “After to¬ 
night, spirits, with me, runs in the end book.” 

“Well, there is a bright bell boy at the Ambassa¬ 
dor and I hired him to stay in my room. With him 
I left a list of names—two columns. The first col¬ 
umn contained ten given names, like John, Henry, 
George, and so on, and each name was numbered; 
the second column was made up of ten family names, 
Adams, Murphy, Graves, Johnson, similarly num¬ 
bered. When Hyman asked for Henry Graves, the 
boy looked at his list. Henry was two. Graves was 
three. He read my mind and knew I was thinking 
of twenty-three. It was as simple as Moe’s con¬ 
jurer’s bag with the double pocket and the duplicate 

329 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


envelopes. That is an old gag, but I couldn^t think 
of any better way to get those questions into Jim- 
my^s hands.” 

“Tse! Tse!” Ginsberg clucked and shook his 
head. ‘‘It’s a shame you should waste such brains 
on the electric business.” 

Moe Apple was examining the turban Joe had 
worn. He looked up to say: “Wasted, is it? And 
him with the patents granted for his new coil and 
this head set. It’s too bad you won’t have a piece 
of his royalties to waste on pictures. The first 
time I looked at that vase, I’ll say it fooled me. I 
had to run a wire up the spout to detect the am¬ 
plifier.” 

Thomas was of a similar mind. “Yes, if I’ve 
cured Myrtle of the movie habit, I won’t consider 
my brains wasted. ‘Fragrant Myrtle Thomas, the 
Wonder Wife’I I’ll be around in the morning, Sol, 
and rip the wiring out of your library.” 

It was a week later. Joe Thomas looked up from 
a magazine as his wife spoke his name. Outside the 
car windows, the desert was gliding past. 

“Yes, dearie?” 

“Are you getting tired of me already?” 

“Why, sweetheart, I’m in heaven!” The groom 
leaned forward and kissed her pouting lips. 

“I didn’t know. You haven’t said anything nice 
330 


THE TALKING VASE 


for—ever so long. And, Joe! You’ll never tell any¬ 
body what a miserable failure I was in pictures?” 

“Nonsense! Who says you were a failure?” 

A moment passed, then Mr. Thomas was again 
interrupted. “What are you reading, pettie?” 

“One of those articles about spirits. It’s great.” 

“Surely you don’t believe in such things?” 

“Of course I do! There are certain phenomena 
of nature-” 

“You’re one of them, dear.” Mrs. Thomas fav¬ 
ored her husband with an adoring gaze. “You’re 
better looking than any of those leading men and 
I’m going to be frightfully jealous.” The speaker 
ran her fingers through her husband’s head of wavy, 
midnight hair and he grinned fatuously at her com¬ 
pliment. “Poor, hard-working Joe!” Again the 
pouting lips invited him. “This trip must have cost 
a fortune! And we could have spent the money for 
furniture! ” 

“Nothing like it, honey! You see, I wired Gins¬ 
berg’s house for him while I was in Los Angeles 
and he gave me a tip to buy Gins-Art stock. The 
trip hasn’t cost a cent.” 


331 



f 




/ 




TOO FAT TO FIGHT 




TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


CHAPTER I 

^^PMtsburg, One Way ** 

P LATTSBURG. One way/’ Norman Dalrymple 
told the ticket agent. He named his destination 
more loudly, more proudly than necessary, and he 
was gratified when the man next in line eyed him 
with sudden interest. 

Having pocketed his ticket, Dalr3miple noted, by 
his smart new wrist watch with the luminous dial, 
that there was still twenty minutes before train 
time. Twenty minutes—and Shipp had a vicious 
habit of catching trains by their coat tails—a habit 
doubly nerve-racking to one of Dalrymple’s pon¬ 
derous weight and deliberate disposition. That 
afforded ample leeway for a farewell rickey at the 
Belmont or the Manhattan; it was altogether too 
long a time to stand around. Mr. Dalrymple—^his 
friends called him ‘‘Dimples”—^had long since con¬ 
cluded that standing was an imnatural posture for 
human beings, and with every pound he took on there 
33S 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


came a keener appreciation of chairs, benches, 
couches, divans—anything and everything of that 
restful pattern except hammocks. Hammocks he 
distrusted and despised, for they had a way of 
breaking with the sound of gun-shots and causing 
him much discomfiture. 

Next to standing. Dimples abhorred walking, for 
the truth is he shook when he walked. Therefore 
he chose the Belmont, that haven of rest being 
close at hand; but ere he had gained the street his 
eye was challenged by a sight that never failed to ar¬ 
rest his attention. It was the open door of an eating- 
place—the station restaurant—with idle waiters 
and spotless napery within. Now, drink was a 
friend, but food was an intimate companion of 
whom Dimples never tired. Why people drank in 
order to be convivial or to pass an idle quarter of 
an hour, the while there were sweets and pastries 
as easily accessible, had always been a mystery to 
him. Like a homing pigeon, he made for this place 
of refreshment. 

Overflowing heavily into a chair, he wiped his 
full-moon face and ordered a corn-starch pudding, 
an insatiable fondness for which was his consuming 
vice. 

As usual, Shipp made the train with a three-second 
factor of safety in his favor, and, recognizing the 

336 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


imposing bulk of his traveling companion, greeted 
him with a hearty: 

“Hello, Dimples! I knew you’d come.” 

When .they had settled themselves in their com¬ 
partment Dalrymple panted, breathlessly: 

“Gee! How I hate people who paw at departing 
trains.” 

“I made it, didn’t I? You’re getting fat and 
slow—that’s what ails you. A fine figure of an 
athlete you are! Why, you’re laying on blubber 
by the day! You’re swelled up like a dead horse.” 

“I know,” Dimples nodded mournfully. “I’ve 
tried to reduce, but I know too many nice people, 
and they all have good chejs^ 

“Boozing some, too, I suppose?” 

“Oh, sure! And I love candy.” 

“They’ll take you down at Plattsburg. Say! 
It’s great, isn’t it? War! The real thing!” Shipp’s 
eyes were sparkling. “Of course it came hard to 
leave the wife and the baby, but—somebody has 
to go.” 

“Right! And we’re the ones, becaiise we can 
afford it. I never knew how good it is to be rich and 
idle—did you? But think of the poor devils who 
want to go and can’t—dependents, and all that. It’s 
tough on them.” 

The other agreed silently; then, with a smile, he 
said: 


337 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


“If they’re looking for officer material at Platts- 
burg, as they say they are, why, you’ve got enough 
for about three. They’ll probably cube your con¬ 
tents and start you off as a colonel.” 

Dimples’s round, good-natured face had become 
serious; there was a suggestion of strength, deter¬ 
mination, to the set of his jaw when he spoke. 

“Thank God, we’re in at last! I’ve been boiling 
ever since the Huns took Belgium. I don’t care 
much for children, because most of them laugh at 
me, but—I can’t stand to see them butchered.” 

Plattsburg was a revelation to the two men. They 
were amazed by the grim, businesslike character of 
the place; it looked thoroughly military and efficient, 
despite the flood of young fellows in civilian clothes 
arriving by every train; it aroused their pride to 
note how many of their friends and acquaintances 
were among the number. But, for that matter, the 
best blood of the nation had responded. Deeply 
impressed, genuinely thrilled, Shipp and Dalrymple 
made ready for their physical examinations. 

Dimples was conscious of a jealous twinge at the 
sight of his former team-mate’s massive bare shoul¬ 
ders and slim waist; Shipp looked as fit to-day as 
when he had made the All-American. As for him¬ 
self, Dimples had never noticed how much he re¬ 
sembled a gigantic Georgia watermelon. It was 
indeed time he put an end to easy living. Well, 
33S 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


army diet, army exercise would bring him back, for 
he well knew that there were muscles buried deep be¬ 
neath his fat. 

‘^Step lively!” It was an overworked medical ex¬ 
aminer speaking, and Dimples moved forward; the 
line behind him closed up. As he stepped upon the 
scales the beam flew up; so did the head of the 
man who manipulated the counter-balance. 

‘‘Hey! One at a time!” the latter cried. Then 
with a grin he inquired, “Who’s with you?” He 
pretended to look back of Dimples as if in search of 
a companion, after which he added another weight 
and finally announced, in some awe: 

“Two eighty-five—unless I’m seeing double.” 

“ *Two eighty-fiver ” The chief examiner started; 
to Dalrymple he said: “Step aside, sir. Fall out.” 

“What’s the idea?” Dimples inquired, with a rose- 
pink flush of embarrassment. 

“You’re overweight. Next!” 

“Why, sure I’m overweight; but what’s the dif¬ 
ference?” 

“All the difference in the world, sir. We can’t 
pass you. Please don’t argue. We have more work 
than we can attend to.” 

Shipp turned back to explain: 

“This is Norman Dalrymple, one of the best 
tackles we ever had at Harvard. He’s as sound as 
3S9 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 

a dollar and stronger than a bridge. He’ll come 
down-” 

‘T’m sorry; but there’s nothing we can do. Regu¬ 
lations, you know.” 

“Sure!” The man at the scales was speaking. 
“Two eighty-five isn’t a weight; it’s a telephone 
number.” 

Dalrymple inquired, blankly: 

“Do you mean to say I can’t get in? Why, that’s 
too absurd. I must get in! Can’t you fix it some¬ 
how?” 

“You’re holding up the others. Won’t you please 
step aside?” 

Shipp drew the giant out of line and said, quietly: 

“Don’t argue. Get into your duds and wait for 
me. It will be all right. We know everybody; 
we’ll square it.” 

But it was not all right. Nor could it be made all 
right. Weary hours of endeavor failed in any way 
to square matters, and the two friends were finally 
forced to acknowledge that , here was an instance 
where wealth, influence, the magic of a famous name, 
went for naught. They were told politely but firmly 
that Norman Dalrymple, in his present state of un¬ 
preparedness, could not take the officers’ intensive- 
training course. Dimples was mortified, humiliated; 
Shipp felt the disappointment quite as keenly. 

“That’s the toughest luck I ever heard of,” the 
340 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 

latter acknowledged. “Youll have to reduce, that’s 
all.’* 

But Dimples was in despair. 

“It’s healthy fat; it will take longer to run it off 
than to run the Germans out of France. The war 
will be over before I can do it. I want to get in 
now. Too fat to fight! Good Lord!” he groaned. 
“Why, I told everybody I was going in, and I cut all 
my ties. Now to be rejected!** After a time he 
continued: “It knocks a fellow out to reduce so 
much. If I managed to sweat it off in a hurry, I’d 
never be able to pass my physical. That sort of 
thing takes months.” 

Shipp silently agreed that there was some truth 
in this statement. 

“Tough? It’s a disgrace. I—I have some pride. 
I feel the way I did when I lost our big game. You 
remember I fumbled and let Yale through for the 
winning goal. I went back to the dressing-room, 
rolled up in a blanket, and cried like a baby. You 
and the other fellows were mighty decent; you told 
me to forget it. But I couldn’t. I’ve never for¬ 
gotten it, and I never shall.” 

“Pshaw! You made good later.” 

“I fell down when it was my ball. It’s my ball 
now, Shipp, and I’ve fallen down again. I’ve led a 
pretty easy, useless life, these late years, but—I feel 
this thing in Europe more than I thought I could 

341 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


feel anything. IVe contributed here and there, let 
my man go, and economized generally. IVe adopted 
whole litters of French orphans, and equipped am¬ 
bulance units, and done all the usual things the nice 
people are doing, but I was out of the game, and I 
wanted—Lord! how I wanted to be in it! When 
we declared war, I yelled 1 I went crazy. And then 
along came your wire to join you in this Plattsburg 
course. Good old Shipp! I knew you’d get on the 
job, and it raised a lump in my throat to realize 
that you were sure of me. I—was never so happy”— 
the speaker choked briefly—‘‘as while waiting for 
the day to arrive. Now IVe fumbled the pass. 
I’m on the sidelines.” 


34 * 


CHAPTER II 


Dimples Tries the Y. M. C, A. 

N orman DALRYMPLE did not return home, 
nor did he notify his family of his rejection. 
Instead, he went back to New York, took a room at 
the quietest of his numerous clubs, engaged a trainer, 
and went on a diet. He minded neither of the latter 
very greatly for the first few days, but in time he 
learned to abhor both. 

He shunned his friends; he avoided the club cafe 
as he would have avoided a dragon^s cave. The sight 
of a push button became a temptation and a trial. 
Every morning he wrapped himself up like a sore 
thumb and ambled around the Park reservoir with 
his pores streaming; every afternoon he chased his 
elusive trainer around a gymnasium, striving to pi 
the man’s hateful features, and never quite succeed¬ 
ing. Evenings he spent in a Turkish bath, attempt¬ 
ing to attain the boiling point and failing by the 
fraction of a degree. He acquired a terrifying thirst 
—a monstrous, maniac thirst which gallons of water 
would not quench. 

Ten days of this and he had lost three pounds. He 
343 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


had dwindled away to a mere two hundred and 
eighty-two, and was faintly cheered. 

But he possessed a sweet tooth—a double row of 
them—and he dreamed of things fattening to eat. 
One dream in particular tried the strongest fiber of 
his being. It was of wallowing through a No Man^s 
Land of blanc-mange with shell craters filled with 
cream. Frozen desserts—ice-cold custards! He 
trembled weakly when he thought of them, which 
was almost constantly. Occasionally, when the 
craving became utterly imbearable, he skulked guilt¬ 
ily into a restaurant and ordered his favorite dish, 
corn-starch pudding. 

At the end of three weeks he was bleached; his 
face was drawn and miserable; he looked forth from 
eyes like those of a Saint Bernard. He had gained 
a pound! 

Human nature could stand no more. Listlessly 
he wandered into the club cafe and there came un¬ 
der the notice of a friend. It was no more possible 
for Dimples to enter a room unobserved than for the 
Leviathan to slip unobtrusively into port. The 
friend stared in amazement, then exclaimed: 

“Why, Norm! You look sick.” 

“ ‘Sick?’ ” the big fellow echoed. “I’m not sick; 
I’m dying.” And, since it was good to share his 
burden, he related what had happened to him. 
“Turned me down; wouldn’t give me a chance,” he 
344 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


concluded. ‘When I strained the scales, they 
wanted to know who I had in my lap. IVe been 
banting lately, but I gain weight at it. It agrees 
with me. Meanwhile, Shipp and the others are in 
uniform.” Dimples bowed his head in his huge, 
plump hands. “Think of it! Why, I’d give a leg 
to be in olive drab and wear metal letters on my 
collar! ‘Sick?’ Good Lord!” 

“I know,” the friend nodded. “I’m too old to 
go across, but I’m off for Washington Monday. A 
dollar a year. I’ve been drawing fifty thousand, by 
the way.” 

“I’m out of that, too,” Dimples sighed. “Don’t 
know enough—never did anything useful. But I 
could fight, if they’d let me.” He raised his broad 
face and his eyes were glowing. “I’m fat, but I 
could fight. I could keep the fellows on their toes 
and make ’em hit the line. If—if they built ships 
bigger, I’d stowaway.” 

“See here-” The speaker had a sudden 

thought. “Why don’t you try the Y?” 

“‘TheY?’ Yale?” 

“No, no. The Y. M. C. A.” 

“Oh, that! I’ve hired a whole g 3 mmasium of my 
own where I can swear out loud.” 

“The Y. M. C. A. is sending men overseas.” 

“I’m not cut out for a chaplain.” 

“They’re sending them over to cheer up the boys, 
345 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


to keep them amused and entertained, to rim 
huts^-” 

Dalr3anple straightened himself slowly. 

know; but I thought they were all pulpit- 
pounders.” 

“Nothing of the sort! They’re regular fellows, 
like us. They manage canteens and sell the things 
our bo^s can’t get. They don’t let them grow home¬ 
sick; they make them play games and take care of 
themselves and realize that they’re not forgotten. 
Some of them get right up front and carry hot soup 
and smokes into the trenches.” 

“Me for that!’ Dimples was rising majestically. 
“I could carry soup—more soup than any man living. 
The trenches might be a little snug for me round 
the waist, but I’d be careful not to bulge them. 
Cheer up the boys! Make ’em laugh! Say—that 
would help, wouldn’t it?” He hesitated; then, a bit 
wistfully, he inquired, “The Y fellows wear—^uni¬ 
forms, too, don’t they?” 

“Well, rather. You can hardly tell them from the 
army.” 

In Dalrymple’s voice, when he spoke, there was 
an earnestness, a depth of feeling, that his hearer 
had never susp)ected: 

“Uniforms mean a lot to me lately. Every time 
I see a doughboy I want to stand at attention and 
throw out my chest and draw in my stomach—as far 
346 



TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


as I can. There’s something sacred about that olive 
drab. It’s like your mother’s wedding-dress, only 
holier, and decenter, if pKDSsible. Somehow, it seems 
to stand for everything clean and honorable and 
unselfish. The other day I saw the old Forty-first 
marching down to entrain, and I yelled and cried 
and kissed an old lady. Those swinging arms, those 
rifles aslant, those leggings flashing, and that sea 
of khaki rising, falling— Gee! There’s some¬ 
thing about it. These are great times for the fellows 
who aren’t too old or too fat to fight.” 

“Those Y men fight, in their way, just as hard as 
the other boys, and they don’t get half as much sleep 
or half as much attention. Nobody makes a fuss 
over them.” 

Dimples waited to hear no more. The Y. M. C. A.! 
He had not realized the sort of work it was doing. 
But to keep the boys fit to fight! That was almost 
as good as being one of them. And he could do it— 
better than anybody. As his taxicab sped across 
town he leaned back with a sigh of contentment; 
for the first time in days he smiled. The Y. M. C. A. 
would have no scales! To the boys at the front a 
fat man might be funnier even than a skinny one. 
He was mighty glad he had heard of the Y in time. 
And it would be glad he had, for his name was worth 
a lot to any organization. No more dry bread and 
spinach —Gott strafe spinach! How he hated it! 

347 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


No more exercise, either; he would break training 
instantly and tell that high-priced reducer what he 
really thought of him. Useful work, work to win 
the war, was one thing, but this loathsome process 
of trying out abdominal lard—ugh! He decided to 
dine like a self-respecting white man that very night, 
and to deny himself nothing. The club chej made a 
most wonderful cornstarch pudding, indescribably 
delicious and frightfully fattening. At the mere 
thought, an eager, predatory look came into Dim¬ 
ples’s eyes. He would go overseas without delay; 
he would be in France doing his bit while Shipp and 
the others were still rehearsing their little tricks and 
learning to shout, “Forward, ouch!” Of course those 
fellows would win commissions—they were welcome 
to the glory-—^but meanwhile he would be right down 
in the dirt and the slime with the boys in leggings, 
cheering them up, calling them “Bill” and “Joe,” 
sharing their big and their little troubles, and put¬ 
ting the pep into them. That’s what they needed, 
that’s what the world needed—^pep! It would win 
the war. 

Dalr3miple was surprised when he entered the 
Y. M. C. A. quarters to find them busy and crowded. 
He sent in his card, then seated himself at the end of 
a line of waiting men. He wondered if, by any 
chance, they could be applicants like himself, and 
his complacency vanished when he learned that they 

348 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 

could be—that, indeed, they were. His surprise 
deepened when he saw that in no wise did they re¬ 
semble psalm shouters and Testament worms such 
as he had expected, but that, on the contrary, they 
looked like ordinary, capable business and profes¬ 
sional men. 

Dimples wondered if this were, after all, a com¬ 
petitive service. He broke into a gentle, apprehen¬ 
sive perspiration. 

His name was called finally; he rose and followed 
a boy into a room where several men were seated at 
a table. Two of them were elderly, t3^ical; they 
wore various unbecoming arrangements of white 
whiskers, and one glance told Dimples that they 
knew a lot about God. One of the others resembled 
a judge, and he it was who spoke first. 

‘‘You wish to go to France for the Y. M. C. A.?” 
the latter inquired. 

“Yes, sir. They wouldn’t let me in at Plattsburg. 
I’m too fat, or the camp is too small. I’d very much 
like to go overseas.” 

“It is hardly necessary to ask if you have had 
experience in promoting social entertainments and 
recreations.” 

The speaker smiled. Dimples’s face broke into 
an answering grin. 

“‘Entertainments!’ ‘Recreations!’ They are 
349 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


my stock in trade. I’m an authority on all kinds of 
both; that’s what ails me.” 

Another member of the board inquired: 

^^Are you a temperate man, Mr. Dalrymple?” 

“Oh no! ” Dimples shook his head. “Not at all.” 

“What sort of—er—beverages do you drink?” 

“What have you got!” the young giant blithely 
asked. Noting that his comedy met with no mirthful 
response, he explained more seriously: “Why, I 
drink practically everything. I have no particular 
favorites. I dare say it’s against your rules, so I’ll 
taper off if you say so. I’d take the Keeley to get 
across. Of course I make friends easier when I’m 
moderately lit—anybody does. I’m extraordinarily 
cheerful when I’m that way. You’ve no idea 
how-” 

“Surely you understand that we tolerate no drink¬ 
ing whatever?” 

“No, sir; I didn’t fully understand. I know sev¬ 
eral Christian young men who drink—more or less. 
However, that’s all right with me. I’ve never tried 
to quit drinking, so I’m sure I can.” 

“Are you familiar with the character and the aims 
of the Young Men’s Christian Association?” One 
of the white-bearded gentlemen put this question. 

“In a general way only. I knew you had a gym 
and a swimming tank and ran some sort of a Sunday 
school. It never appealed to me, personally, until I 
350 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


heard about this work you^re doing in France. 
That^s my size. That fits me like a pair of tights.” 

“Do you play cards?” 

“Certainly. I^m lucky, too. Any game the boys 
want, from bridge to black jack.” 

“I mean—do you play for money?” 

“Is that on the black list, too?” Dimples’s en¬ 
thusiasm was slowly oozing away. Noting the fall¬ 
ing temperature of the room, he confessed honestly, 
but with some reluctance: “I suppose I do all of 
the things that ordinary idle fellows do. I drink 
and gamble and swear and smoke and overeat and 
sleep late. But that doesn’t hurt me for carrying 
soup, does it?” 

No one answered this challenge; instead, he was 
the recipient of another question that caused him to 
squirm. 

“Would you consider yourself a moral young 
man?” 

Slowly the applicant shook his head. 

“To what Church do you belong?” 

“I don’t.” 

“How long since you attended divine service?” 

“A good many years, I’m afraid.” 

There followed a moment of silence; the men at 
the table exchanged glances, and into Dimples’s face 
there came an apprehensive, hunted look. He wet 
his lips, then said: 


351 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


‘^Anyhow, you can^t accuse me of mendacity. I 
don’t lie. Now that you know the worst about me, 
I’d like to inventory my good points.” This he pro¬ 
ceeded to do, but in all honesty it must be said that 
his showing was not impressive. Never having 
given serious thought to his virtues, there were few 
that he could recall at such short notice. He con¬ 
cluded by saying: ‘T know I can make good if you’ll 
give me a chance. I—^I’ll work like a dog, and I’ll 
keep the boys laughing. I won’t let them get home¬ 
sick. I— Why gentlemen, this is my last chancel 
It will break my heart if you turn me down.” 

Not unkindly the “judge” said: 

“We will consider your application and notify 
you.” 

This very kindliness of tone caused the fat man 
to pale. 

“I know what that means,” he protested. “That’s 
Y. M. C. A. for ^no.’ Let me go,” he implored. “I’ll 
serve. I’ll stand the punishment. I’m strong and 
I’ll work till I drop. You won’t be ashamed of me, 
honestly.” 

“We’ll notify you without delay, Mr. Dalrymple.” 

There was no more to be said. Dimples wallowed 
out of the room with his head down. 

That night he walked the soft-carpeted floor of his 
chamber until very late, and when he did go to bed 
it was not to sleep. Daylight foimd him turning 

352 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


restlessly, his eyes wide open and tragic. Another 
failure! Within him the spirit of sacrifice burned 
with consuming fury, but there was no outlet for it. 
Through his veins ran the blood of a fighting family; 
nevertheless, a malicious prank of nature had doomed 
him to play the part of Falstaff or of Fatty Arbuckle. 
What could he do to help? Doubtless he could find 
work for his hands in ship-yard or foundry, but they 
were soft, white hands, and they knew no trade. 
Give? He had given freely and would give more; 
but everybody was giving. No; action called him. 
He belonged in the roar and the din of things where 
men’s spirit tells. 

That afternoon he was waddling down Fifth 
Avenue when Mr. Augustus Van Loan stopped him 
to exclaim: 

“Good Heavens, Dimples! What has happened 
to you?” 

Van Loan was a malefactor of great wealth. His 
name was a hissing upon the lips of soap-box orators. 
None of his malefactions, to be sure, had ever yet 
been uncovered, nor were any of the strident-voiced 
orators even distantly acquainted with him, but his 
wealth was an established fact of such enormity that 
in the public eye he was suspect. 

“I’m all in,” the disconsolate mammoth mumbled, 
and then made known his sorrow. “Too fat to get 
into the army; too soft morally to get into the 
353 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


Y. M. C. A. I didn’t know how rotten I am. I can’t 
carry a gun for my country; I’m not good enough to 
lug soup to the boys who do. And, meanwhile, the 
Huns are pressing forward.” 

Van Loan eyed him shrewdly. 

“Do you feel it as badly as all that?” 

Dalrymple nodded. 

“I don’t want to be a hero. Who ever heard of a 
hero with a waistband like mine? No; I’d just like 
to help our lads grin and bear it, and be a big, cheer¬ 
ful fat brother to them.” 

Without a word Mr. Van Loan took a card from 
his pocket and wrote a few lines thereon. 

“Take that down to the Y and tell them to send 
you on the next ship.” He handed Dimples the card, 
whereupon the giant stared at him. 

“D—d’you know that outfit?” 

^‘Know it?” Van Loan smiled. “I’m the fellow 
who’s raising the money for them. They’ve darn 
near broken me, but—it’s worth it.” 

With a gurgling shout Dimples wrung the male¬ 
factor’s hand; then he bolted for the nearest taxi- 
stand and squeezed himself through a cab door. 

Ten minutes later he entered the board-room at 
the Y. M. C. A. and flung Van Loan’s card upon the 
table. 

“Read that!” he told the astonished occupants. 

The “judge” read and passed the card along. 

354 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 

^‘Where do I go from here?” Dimples demajided, 
in a voice of triumph. 

“Why”—the “judge” cleared his throat—“to your 
tailor’s for a uniform, I should say.” 


355 



CHAPTER III 


''Owe Man to Every TenE* 

L ate the following afternoon, as the judicial 
member of the Y examiners was leaving the 
building, his path was barred by a huge, rotund 
figure in khaki which rose from a bench in the hall. 
It was Dalrymple. 

“IVe been blocking traffic here for an hour,” the 
giant explained. "Look at me! It’s the biggest 
uniform in New York, and it was made in the short¬ 
est time.” Noting the effect his appearance created, 
he went on, “I suppose I do look funny, but—there’s 
nothing funny to me about it.” 

The elder man’s face grew serious. 

"I’m beginning to believe you’ll make good, 
Dalrymple. I hope so, for your sake and for the 
sake of the Association. If you don’t, we’ll have to 
order you back.” 

"I’ll take that chance. You gentlemen think I’m 
unfit to wear these clothes and—maybe I was yes¬ 
terday, or even this morning. But when I saw my¬ 
self in this imiform I took stock and cleaned house. 
I got all my bad habits together and laid them away 
in moth balls for the duration of the war.” 

356 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


‘^That means something for a man like you. 
What induced you to do it?’^ 

‘This.” Dalrymple stroked his khaki sleeve Tfith 
reverent, caressing fingers. “It^s almost like the 
real thing, isn’t it? Not quite, but near enough. 
It’s as near as I can ever get, and I shan’t do any¬ 
thing to disgrace it. I can shut my eyes and imagine 
it is the real thing. I don’t suppose you understand 

in the least what I’m driving at-” 

“I think I understand thoroughly, sir. But don’t 
believe for a moment there is anything counterfeit, 
anything bullet-proof, about what you have on. 
You will be fighting, Dalrymple, just the same as the 
other boys; every service you perform, every word 
of cheer, every deed of kindness, will be a bomb 
dropped back of the German lines. Why, man, do 
you know that the work of the Y. M. C. A. adds ten 
per cent, to our fighting force? It’s a fact; Pershing 
says so. If you make good, you’ll be adding one 
man to every ten you meet.” 

“‘One man to every ten!’” Dimples breathed. 
“That’s great! That’s more than I could have done 
the other way. I’m good for something, after all.” 

It seemed impossible that a wealthy, prominent 
young New York club-man could so quickly, so 
utterly drop out of sight as did Dimples Dalrymple. 
One day he was in his familiar haunts, a rotund, 
357 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


mirth-provoking spectacle in his bulging uniform, 
with his tiny overseas cap set above his round, red 
face like the calyx of a huge ripe berry; the next day 
he was gone, and for several months thereafter his 
world knew him not. 


358 


CHAPTER IV 


Hill Two Eighty-five 

C APTAIN SHIPP, now attached to a famous 
division awaiting embarkation, was the first 
to hear from him. He read Dimples’s letter twice 
before passing it on. It ran as follows: 

Dear Brigadier-General, —You must be all of the 
above by this time; if not, there is favoritism somewhere 
and you ought to complain about it. Probably you’re won¬ 
dering where I am. Well, that’s your privilege. Brig. 
I’m in a two-by-four village with a name as long as the 
Frisco System, and you’ll instantly recognize it when I 
tell you it has one white street and a million rats. There 
are no houses whatever. Further information might give 
aid and comfort to the enemy. 

I’ve written lots of letters back home, but this is the first 
one of my own that I’ve had time for. I’m in the game, 
Brig, and I haven’t fumbled the ball. I live in a little tin 
shanty with a sand-bag roof, and I wear a little tin hat 
that holds just enough warm water to shave with. It held 
more—until lately; now there’s a hole in it that I wouldn’t 
trade for the Hudson “tube.” I was starting out with two 
cans of hot cocoa when the street was shelled. I spilled 
the boys’ cocoa and got a dent in my own, but those 
Bessemer derbies are certainly handy shock-absorbers. I 
woke up with my head in Dr. Peters’s lap. 

Right here I must make you acquainted with Pete. He’s 

359 


BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


a hundred-pound hymn-weevil, and the best all-round 
reverend that ever snatched a brand from the burning. 
He dragged me in under cover all alone, and he used no 
hooks. Pretty good for a guy his size, eh? 

Pete and I are partners in crime—and, say, the stuff 
we pull in this hut! Movies, theatricals, concerts, boxing- 
bees—with the half-portion reverend in every scrimmage. 
He’s a Syncopated Baptist, or an Episcopalian Elk, or 
something; anyhow, he’s nine parts human and one part 
divine. That’s the way the Y is wearing them over here. 
He’s got the pep, and the boys swear by him. When the 
war is over he hopes to get a little church somewhere, 
and I’m going to see that he does, if I have to buy it, for 
I want to hear him preach. I never have heard him, but 
I’ll bet he’s a bear. Take it from me, he’ll need a modest 
cathedral with about six acres of parking-space inside 
and a nail in the door for the S. R. O. sign. 

We have a piano, and games, and writing-materials, and 
a stock of candy and tobacco and chocolate and stuff like 
that. I haven’t tasted a single chocolate. Fact! But it 
has made an old man of me. Gee! I’d give that loft 
building on Sixteenth Street to be alone with an order 
of cornstarch pudding. However, barring the fact that I 
haven’t lost an ounce in weight, I’m having a grand time, 
for there’s always something to do. Details are constantly 
passing through, to and from the front-line trenches, which 
(whisper) are so close that we can smell the Germans. 
That’s the reason we wear nose-bags full of chloride of 
lime or something. Pete and I spend our days making 
millions of gallons of tea and coffee and cocoa, and selling 
canned goods, and sewing on buttons, and cracking jokes, 
and playing the piano, and lugging stretchers, and making 
doughnuts, and getting the boys to write home to mother, 
and various little odd jobs; then, at night, we take supplies 
up to the lads in the front row of the orchestra. That’s 
a pretty game, by the way, for a man of my size. Nobody 

360 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


ever undertakes to pass me in a trench; I lie down and 
let them climb over. It keeps the boys good-natured, and 
that’s part of mj job. “Hill Two Eighty-five”—^that’s 
what they call me. 

We had a caller to-day. One of the Krupp family 
dropped in on us and jazzed up the whole premises. 
There is Bull Durham and rice papers and chocolate 
and raspberry jam all over this village, and one corner 
of our hut has gone away from here entirely. We haven’t 
found the stove, either, although Pete retrieved the 
damper, and the rest of it is probably somewhere near by. 

Of course I had nothing hot for the boys when I went 
up to-night. It was raining, too, and cold. But they didn’t 
mind. They don’t mind anything—they’re wonderful that 
way. We all had a good laugh over it, and they pretended 
they were glad it was the stove and not I that got strafed. 
I really believe they like me. Anyhow, they made me 
think they do, and I was so pleased I couldn’t resist sitting 
down and writing you. Altogether, it was a great day 
and a perfect evening. 

Yours till the last “down,” 

Dimples. 


361 


CHAPTER V 


Dimples Takes Part in a Ceremony 

D uring the first few weeks after his arrival 
in France Captain Shipp had no time what¬ 
ever for affairs of his own, but a day came finally 
when he took a train for a certain base close up 
behind an American sector, intending there to more 
definitely locate Dimples’s whereabouts and to walk 
in upon him unannounced. It would be a memorable 
reunion; he could hear now the big fellow’s shout of 
welcome. That genial behemoth would have a tale 
to unfold, and they would talk steadily until Shipp’s 
leave was up. 

But bad news was waiting at the base—news that 
sent the captain hurrying from first one hospital to 
another. 

‘^Dalrymple? Oh yes, he’s here,” an orderly in¬ 
formed the distracted visitor. 

“Is he^— May I see him?” 

A small, hollow-eyed man with a red triangle upon 
his sleeve rose from a chair and approached to in¬ 
quire: 

“Are you, by any chance. Captain Shipp?” 

362 



TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


am/’ 

‘‘Dimples has often spoken of you. He has been 
expecting you for weeks. I’m just going in.” 

“You are Doctor Peters—Pete?” The Y secre¬ 
tary nodded. “What ails him? I heard he was 
wounded-” 

“Yes. His leg. It’s very serious. I come every 
day.” 

The speaker led the way, and Shipp followed 
down a long hall redolent of sickly drug smells, past 
clean white operating-rooms peopled with silent- 
moving figures, past doors through which the captain 
glimpsed dwindling rows of beds and occasional 
sights that caused his face to set. In that hushed 
half-whisper assumed by hospital visitors, he in¬ 
quired: 

“How did it happen?” 

“There was a raid—a heavy barrage and con¬ 
siderable gas—and it caught him while he was up 
with supplies for the men. He began helping the 
wounded out, of course. It was a nasty affair—our 
men were new, you see, and it was pretty trying for 
green troops. They said, later, that he helped to 
steady them quite as much as did their officers.” 

“I can believe that. He’s a man to tie to.” 

“Yes, yes. We all felt that, the very first day he 
came. Why, he was an inspiration to the men! He 
was mother, brother, pal, servant to the best and to 

363 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


the worst of them. Always laughing, singing— 
There! Listen!’^ 

The Reverend Doctor Peters paused inside the 
entrance to a ward, and Shipp heard a familiar voice 
raised in quavering song: 

“By the star-shell’s lig^ht, 

I see you; I see you. 

If you want to see your father in the Fatherland, 
Keep your head down, Fritzie boy.” 

“Why”—Shipp uttered a choking cry—“he^s out 
of his head 1 ” 

“Oh, yes; he has been that way ever since they 
amputated.” 

“‘Amp—’ Good God!” Shipp groped blindly 
for support; briefly he covered his eyes. Then, like 
a man in a trance, he followed down the aisle until 
he stood, white-lipped and trembling, at the foot of 
Dalrymple’s bed. 

It was difficult to recognize Dimples in this pallid, 
shrunken person with the dark, roving eyes and 
babbling tongue. The voice alone was unchanged; 
it was husky, faint as if from long, long use, but it 
was brave and confident; it ran on ceaselessly: 

“Keep your nerve up, pal; you’re standing it like 
a hero, and we’ll have you out to the road in no 
time. Smokes! I tell you they must have smokes 
if you have to bring ’em in on your back— 
Gangway for the soup-man! Come and get it, boys. 

364 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


Hot soup—like mother used to make. Put on the 
Harry Lauder record again. Now then, all together: 

*‘I love a lassie, a bonnie, blue-eyed lassie.” 

The little minister had laid a cool hand upon 
Dimples^s burning brow; his head was bowed; his 
lips were moving. 

‘‘When did you write to your mother last?” the 
sick man babbled on. “Sure Idl post it for you, and 
I’ll add a line of my own to comfort her— Water! 
Can’t you understand? He wants water, and mine’s 
gone. Too fat to fight! But I’ll make good; I’ll 
serve. Give me chance— Steady, boys! They’re 
coming. They’re at the wire. Now give ’em hell! 
We’ll say it together, old man; ‘Our Father which 
art in heaven, hallowed be thy name-’ ” 

There were scalding tears in Shipp’s eyes; his 
throat was aching terribly when Doctor Peters 
finally led him out of the ward. The last sound he 
heard was Dalrymple’s voice quavering: 

^Dver there! Over there! 

And we won’t come back till it’s over, over there.” 

“I had my hands full at the hut, for the wounded 
were coming in,” Doctor Peters was saying, “but 
every one says Dimples did a man’s work up there 
in the mud and the darkness. Some of the fellows 
confessed that they couldn’t have hung on, cut off 
as they were, only for him. But they did. It was 

365 



BIG BROTHER AND OTHER STORIES 


late the next day before we picked him up. He was 
right out in the open; he’d been on his way back 
with a man over his shoulders. He was very strong, 
you know, and most of the stretcher-bearers had 
been shot down. The wounded man was dying, so 
Dimples walked into the barrage.” 

“And he was afraid he wouldn’t make good!” 
Shipp muttered, with a crooked, mirthless smile. 

“Yes—imagine it! There was never a day that 
he didn’t make me ashamed of myself, never a day 
that he didn’t do two men’s work. No task was 
too hard, too disagreeable, too lowly. And always 
a smile, a word of cheer, of hope. Our Master 
washed people’s feet and cooked a breakfast for 
hungry fishermen. Well, the spirit of Christ lives 
again in that boy.” 

Shipp’s leave had several days to run; such time 
as he did not spend with Doctor Peters he put in at 
Dimples’s bedside. He was there when the delirium 
broke; his face was the first that Dimples recog¬ 
nized; his hand was the first that Dimples’s groping 
fingers weakly closed upon. 

They had little to say to each other; they merely 
murmured a few words and smiled; and while Dim¬ 
ples feasted his eyes upon the brown face over him, 
Shipp held his limp, wasted hand tight and stroked 
it, and vowed profanely that the sick man was look¬ 
ing very fit. 


366 


TOO FAT TO FIGHT 


Later in the day the captain said, with something 
like gruffness in his voice: 

^^Lucky thing you pulled yourself together, old 
man, for you’re booked to take part in a ceremony 
to-morrow. A famous French general is going to 
kiss you on both cheeks and pin a doodad of some 
sort on your nightie.” 

Dimples was amazed. 

^^Me? Why, the idea!” 

“Sure!” Shipp nodded vigorously. “Ridiculous, 
isn’t it? And think of me standing at attention 
while he does it. Pretty soft for you Y fellows. 
Here you are going home with a decoration before 
I’ve even smelled powder.” 

“Oh, I’m not going home,” the other declared. 
“Not yet, anyhow. A one-legged man can sell 
cigarettes and sew on buttons and make doughnuts 
just as well as a centipede.” 

A smiling nurse paused at the bed to say: 

“You’re awfully thin, Mr. Dalrymple, but we’ll 
soon have you nice and fat again. The doctor says 
you’re to have the most nourishing food—anything 
you want, in fact.” 

“ ^Anything?^ ” 

“Anything within reason.” 

Dimples grinned wistfully, yet happily. 

“Gee!” said he. “I’d like some cornstarch 
pudding.” THE END 

367 





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